Other Lives and Dimensions & Finally a Love Story
by flybbfly
Summary: The year is 1977, and the Wizarding World is in turmoil. A set of young wizards and witches in their last year at Hogwarts are only just figuring out their places in the world around them. They fall in and out of love whilst pledging their lives to the only thing that truly matters: fighting the darkest force that has ever struck their world. This is the wizards' lost generation.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Once upon a time, there was a pack of cigarettes, a very dark wizard, a boy who was in love with a girl who would never love him back, and a boy who was quite infatuated with a girl who would one day come to be infatuated with him too. Once upon a time, the second boy's best friend almost killed the girl's ex-best friend, and then the boy's other best friend along with the girl's ex-best friend got the boy and the girl both killed. Once upon a time, a girl and a boy had two groups of friends that they loved more than they loved themselves, and once upon a time everyone they knew died in the same war: the wizards' lost generation. Once upon a time, a girl and a boy were shoved together so powerfully that their bodies aligned and they fell in love.

They weren't all that different, really, except that they were.

She used school to distract herself from everything else. The outside world was nothing compared to the multiverse inside a book. She could forget that people didn't think she deserved to be where she was by being better there than they were. She lost her virginity to a boy she knew was wrong for her, and kept doing it because there was something safe in the wrongness. She discovered in her youth how convenient a spot the crook of her elbow was for carrying books. She started smoking because her best friend made her feel like shit in front of most of the school. The first time she got drunk she was sixteen and lonely and surrounded by blokes who wanted to get into her pants and probably could if they just smiled wide enough. The second time it was because her sister was getting married and she was all out of cigarettes. She chose boy after boy, but none of them fit her correctly, too tight in some places and too loose in others. She was always trying not to fall in love.

But he didn't need to distract himself. The outside world was full of wonders and scary beautiful. He got everything he wanted because of who he was. He kissed too many girls, but didn't fall in love properly until he was already seventeen. He only read books to try fill up depressing free time. He started smoking when he was sixteen because he thought he was in love with a girl who didn't love him back. The first time he blacked out he was sixteen and much too happy to pace himself. He kept smoking because his best friend almost ruined everything. If it had been his choice, really, he wouldn't have chosen her. He was always trying to fall out of love.

She was ice cold to him, but like compacted snow, she melted in his sunlight. He was a nomad, dehydrated after years of wandering the desert, and her melted ice was his oasis.

They came together because of a cigarette and, when the smoke cleared, found they were actually quite fond of one another. They were only friends in spurts, and they loved like that too-in bits and pieces until they were properly in love. And then they were only bits and pieces.

In a world that was rapidly becoming heaps of bones and pools of blood, they were two living, breathing forms whose existences came to rely so powerfully on one another that they found-almost against their wills-that they could not be without each other.

They smelled like cigarettes separately, and then they smelled like cigarettes together, and then they quit because in a world where everyone was dying, there was no need to tempt the fates.

"I could never be without you," she told him on their wedding day, and

"I could never be without you again," he replied.

This is the story of how they loved, but it is important to note that love is multifaceted, and while these two meant a great deal to one another, they were not everything. Perhaps the most important part of the boy's life was the group of friends that made him the man he became and eventually led him to his death; perhaps the most important part of hers was the group of friends that pushed her to let herself fall in love and fight for what she believed in, and perhaps the most important part of both of their lives was the child they bore, the child that changed and saved the world.

It began in a cloud of smoke, but it ended in a serenely clarifying flash of green light.

(Their gravestones read: Lily and James Potter. The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.)

(More important, however, turned out to be the first enemy: stubbornness.)

* * *

**A/N:** So this is the start of my new Marauder Era fic! It is largely a Lily/James story, though there will be various ships in the story and I want it to actually be more of a detailed account of the lives of some of the most important witches and wizards of their time than the typical L/J love story (which I have read and written and loved dearly). Chapters are averaging around 8000 words right now, though that could change depending on my level of motivation within the next month or so. The prologue, the title, and a great deal of this fic are inspired by the poem "Other Lives and Dimensions and Finally a Love Poem" by Bob Hicok. Please do leave me your feedback, as it greatly aids me in writing! Many thanks to my shiny new beta and good friend, Dana, for all her help here. Thanks for reading.


	2. On Muggle Clothing & A Friendly Barmaid

**On Muggle Clothing and a Friendly Barmaid**

Gryffindors, James Potter thought halfway into a bottle of mead, didn't know their limits.

* * *

Lily Evans was smoking. This wasn't a new occurrence for her, but it certainly was becoming a more frequent one, and now, standing on her mother's porch in Surrey, staring wistfully out at the quiet and mostly empty street, she thought it might be becoming cumbersome. She'd been through at least six packs since summer had started, and her "extra money just for fun" fund was running low. She wondered a little absently whether it was possible to conjure cigarettes or Muggle money, and then thought it might be simpler just to either quit smoking or get a job.

Lily leaned forward, resting her forearms on the railing surrounding the porch and taking a long drag of her cigarette. It was almost stiflingly hot out, and that made _her_ feel stifled, which made her think, absurdly, about _Crime and Punishment_-which, of course, only reminded her of Severus-a Raskolnikov if she'd ever met one. She wondered if Severus was home, or at the park a few blocks away, or even somewhere around here, lurking in alleyways, Disillusioned but forever keeping an eye on her. She didn't know if she thought it creepy or sweet that he felt such an absurd need to protect her, but then decided it was a great deal more the former, as it seemed that Severus only really wanted to protect her from other males. She sighed, a large exhale that released a puff of smoke that seemed to sit around her in the stagnant air instead of wafting away the way it usually did. She sighed again, took another drag of the cigarette, and decided to stop thinking about Severus. Perhaps she'd finally answer his owl when she went upstairs...

She thought about the curl of his lip the last time he'd called her a Mudblood, though, and decided she probably wouldn't.

"Lily?" Her mother had opened the front door and was now looking at her expectantly. "You can't stay out here forever, you know."

Try me, Lily thought, though she said only, "I'm just finishing this cigarette, mum," because_Merlin_ was it nice to see her mum out of bed; it had happened too little since her dad had died a few years back, but the upcoming nuptials seemed to have brought new life to Daniella Evans.

"Smoking will kill you," her mother said in a sing-song voice, the remnants of her once thick London accent peeking through. "Vernon's just heard the match on the wireless, but it's over now, and the Dursleys are hungry and your aunt refuses to start dinner without you."

"Right," Lily said, putting out her cigarette in an ash tray instead of Vanishing it with her wand the way she had at school. "Let me just wash up."

Her mother smiled at her, all graying short red hair and frown lines. "Thanks, dear. Oh, and-if you want to please Vernon, _don't_ pretend to be a Leeds United fan."

Lily felt a smile start to spread across her face as she rinsed out her mouth in the loo; she_wasn't_ a Leeds fan of course, but it might be nice to see Vernon's reaction to her purported love for the team. Vernon, she thought, seemed like a Chelsea fan...or perhaps not a fan of football at all, but some more esteemed sport, like rugby or bloody _polo_. She imagined what his reaction to Quidditch might be, and, laughing to herself, dried her hands.

Having finally mentally prepared herself for the undoubtedly grating experience that this dinner was certain to be, Lily exhaled and entered the dining room.

"Sorry I've kept you waiting," she said, smiling sheepishly at their guests. "I didn't realize the match would be over so soon."

"Wasn't a good match anyway," Vernon said, almost graciously. "Er...pass the salt, couldn't you, Lily?"

And the Dursleys were not awful people. Truly, they weren't. Sure, Vernon's sister, Marge, was one of the loudest and largest women Lily had ever met, and sure, when she'd had a bit much to drink she became fairly bigoted and offensive, all "Those RC churches really ought to stick to Northern Ireland, wouldn't you say?" and "There's a bloke called John Tyndall I saw on the news last night and I think he's rather got the right idea about the future of England" and "It was a paki that stole your car, Daniella, I'm sure of it..."

And, yes, Vernon himself was hardly pleasant; he seemed to think only of status symbols and his own job, though he did make an effort with Daniella, and for that Lily was grateful. He was even civil to Lily herself, though Marge looked at her as though she were a very dangerous criminal.

Vernon's mother, Anna, though a bit daft as far as Lily could tell, was sweet; she never came to the Evans' empty-handed and, in fact, usually had several bottles of wine and quite a few different types of sweets for dessert in the back seat of her husband's car. She nearly always complimented Lily on her hair, and it was difficult for Lily to see how so sweet a woman had borne and raised a woman like Marge.

That was, until Lily met Vernon's father, who was more than a little creepy. Humphrey Dursley often leered at her, and she had taken to wearing pants and baggy sweatshirts whenever he was around despite the blistering heat of summer, simply because he made her feel so uncomfortable. He clearly held the same prejudiced views as his daughter, though he rarely voiced them, opting, instead, to incline his head in agreement whenever something particularly awful came out of her mouth.

But the Dursleys were utterly boring. They were as concerned with outward appearances as anyone Lily had ever met, and as such took great lengths to ensure that nobody mistook them for cheap or poor. Vernon and Anna had very inane conversations, Humphrey and Marge very offensive ones. It would all be fine, Lily supposed, had Petunia not been utterly enthralled with them.

And she was: anyone could see that. "Another glass of wine, Mrs. Dursley?" Petunia said, standing to pour her fiance's mother a new glassful.

"Oh, yes, please, Pet," Anna said, smiling at her. "We brought plenty..."

"Don't have too much, Anna," Humphrey said. "We need you sober enough to drive!" He chuckled and patted Lily on the shoulder and she wondered, not for the first time, why her mother insisted upon seating her beside this awful man.

"Don't be ridiculous," Marge said. "Lily's not old enough to drink, _she'll_ drive us..."

"I don't drive, actually," Lily interrupted. "Sorry."

Marge blinked at her. "How d'you get around, then?"

"I walk."

"To _school_?"

"I take the train to school," Lily replied. "It's a boarding school, so it's all in one place..."

"Where is it you go again?" Marge asked. "Not some criminal school, is it?"

"Er...no. It's Agatha's School for Girls in Glasgow."

"You take the train into _Glasgow_? Cor, Lily, you really ought to learn how to drive...it'd lessen your trip by about a day."

Lily shrugged and hoped for the topic of conversation to change, but unfortunately, it did not.

"What do they teach you over at Agatha's? Is it a finishing school?"

"No," Lily said. "Just a...just a boarding school. Typical college, but with dormitories and beds and things."

"Is it a superior education, d'you think? Is it-are you a bit-y'know-disabled? Because I'm sure it can't be inexpensive-not that I'm calling you cheap, Daniella, but blimey..."

"It's a great education," Lily said coolly. "I'm not disabled. It's a school for people with-special talents."

"And what's your special talent?" Humphrey asked, and Lily sighed inwardly, realizing now that her mental preparation had clearly not been sufficient.

* * *

In fifteen years, Remus Lupin would look at Peter Pettigrew down the end of the wand, feeling nothing but hatred and a vague sense of betrayal whose origin he could not quite determine, and threaten to kill him. And Peter would beg, and Remus would not want to relent, and he would refuse to look Sirius Black or Harry Potter in the eye when he said, "You should have known, Peter, that if Voldemort did not kill you, we would."

But at the moment, Voldemort was far from Remus Lupin's mind, though the betrayal of friendship was not. "More," he said, reaching for the bottle James had just finished taking a hearty swig from. He was a great deal less buzzed than his two friends, owing, undoubtedly, to the furry little problem that gave him a tad too much muscle mass and blood with just slightly too strong alcohol buffers.

James wiped his mouth with his sleeve and handed over the bottle. "Where's Worm-Peter?"

"He's under your bed."

"Ah-Peter, come out from there...I think there might be a ghoul..."

"This is _boring_," Peter complained. "All we do is hang around and get _pissed_...my poor livers are rotted through..."

"My livers are surprisingly well preserved."

"You only have one liver a piece," Remus said dryly, setting down the bottle of mead and deciding that they'd all quite possibly had enough.

The truth was, though, he thought as he Side-Alonged James and Peter to an alley near a Muggle bar James liked, that Peter was right. It _was_ boring-he wasn't sure quite _what_ was boring about it, only that it was. It wasn't like the rest of their summers had been filled with exciting adventures-though, said a nagging voice in his head, they sort of _had_, like the time after second year when they'd all snuck into Knockturn Alley by Floo and bought random Dark objects just to figure out how to dismantle them (Remus still had a scar from a nasty doxy bite he'd gotten that summer), or after fourth year, that first full moon they'd all been able to turn...but Remus put that thought out of his head and ordered a whiskey sour, flashing the forged Muggle identification James had made them all at the beginning of summer. He didn't_need_ all of them with him at full moon anyway...sure, it had been fun, but entirely too dangerous.

And anyway, most of their summer afternoons _had_ involved quite a lot of smoking and drinking, especially after fifth year; sure, there was an awful lot of Quodpot and two-a-side Quidditch, and yes, that was difficult to do when there were only three of you, but Remus didn't much care for Quidditch anyway, and Quodpot was only fun when you were watching the Quod explode in someone _else's_ face. He'd tried, with varying levels of success, to convince everyone to play Muggle football-he quite liked Muggle football and could often be found at Highbury with his dad on alternating Saturdays-but, again, with only three this was quite difficult.

In the bar, a Muggle girl was hitting on James; she was quite pretty, Remus thought, though the exact opposite of James's type: she was tall and willowy, with long dark hair, rather more Sirius's type...but again, Remus put the thought out of his head and ordered another drink. Beside him, Peter was talking to a sweet looking blonde who was biting her lip and twirling her hair, and that was good, Remus supposed, though he didn't feel much like flirting.

"Another, please," he said to the barmaid instead, and she made him one, a little lazily.

"These two your friends?" she asked, indicating James and Peter.

Remus nodded.

"Not very good, are they?"

"How d'you mean?"

"Well, they're not doing a very good job of cheering you up."

"Who says I need cheering up?"

The barmaid raised an eyebrow. "Your frown lines. What are you-eighteen? Nineteen? How many nineteen year olds have frown lines?"

Remus shrugged and downed the drink in one gulp. She refilled it without his having to ask.

"It's been a rough summer," he admitted, and the girl-she was only a girl, he realized, hardly older than he-smiled sadly.

"You don't have to tell me," she said. "Listen, are you hungry? Only, my shift ends in half an hour and there's a place with _delightful_ chips just next door that stays open late...and you do look like you need to be delighted." She winked at him.

"You just want me to leave you a bigger tip."

"Maybe I do," she said, smirking. "But I'll pay for the chips."

Remus opened his mouth to say no, but beside him Peter was already snogging the blonde, and James's dark haired beauty had her hand way up on his thigh and neither looked like they'd care if he disappeared with the barmaid, so he grinned. "Sorted," he said. "Only, you have to keep me company 'til then...these two seem to've forgotten me."

The barmaid laughed. "Course I will, love. I'm Emma, by the way-what's your name?"

"Remus," Remus said. "Good to meet you."

* * *

It would be with a shattered heart that upon hearing that his best mate was to have a child whom the Dark Lord wanted dead, Sirius Black would suggest Remus Lupin was the rat.

Two and a half years before that happened on a distinctly hot day in one of the filthier parts of Muggle London, however, Sirius was lying on the couch in his flat and his was the most recent betrayal he'd experienced. It was a typical Muggle flat, with a telly and refrigerator and everything, but the electricity'd gone all wonky with all the magic around and Sirius had been reduced to shooting sparks at the television to entertain himself and placing a cooling charm on the entire refrigerator so it'd keep his food from spoiling. Not that very much of his food ended up there, or that very much of it _could_ spoil, as Sirius had been living on a steady diet of Muggle take away and very cheap wine.

Now, however, he found himself craving a meal cooked by someone who was not a disgruntled teenager, and as he did not have any of those handy, he kept shooting sparks at his television.

It was stupid, really, all of this-the flat, the fight with the Marauders, the Snape thing-and Sirius knew it, but he did not know how to fix it. He thought that this, perhaps, was his greatest (once, he might have said "only") fault: the moment he ruined something, he gave up on trying to make it better and ran away. Once it had been to Gryffindor, then to James Potter's house, and now, at last, to a flat alone in Muggle London. It was as if he had climbed the hierarchy of things his father would have hated, and this pleased Sirius, or at least, it was less awful than everything else he'd been thinking about.

Sirius gazed at his ceiling, scorched as it was by the many sparks he'd shot at it, this being his only form of entertainment. He thought he ought to get a wireless, at least to listen to Quidditch matches, but he didn't know how to use a wizard one or how to make a Muggle one play wizard stations.

Or perhaps, he thought, setting the bottle of wine he'd been drinking from on his chest so that it dripped the liquid into his mouth at a pace fast enough to keep his mouth wet but not-a little unfortunately, he thought-enough for him to drown, perhaps he ought to read a book. It was a ludicrous thought, but not one that was unfounded; after all, he did know _how_ to read, and he thought he might even have a few books somewhere in his flat. There was the _Standard Book of Spells, Year Six_ from the previous term, and perhaps he'd bought another of the textbooks the year before, though he somehow doubted it; he found textbooks useless wastes of money and tree pulp, as any wizard worth his salt could guess at the theory and simply master the practical based upon instruction and careful observation. Perhaps, even, he owned a book or two that had never been on any syllabus...he thought Remus might have given him one for a birthday once, and it certainly seemed possible that he'd accidentally packed one of Eddie Vance's books in his haste to escape the stiflingly silent dormitory at the end of the school year.

He rather craved company, as Sirius Black had never been much of a loner. Perhaps it'd be smart of him to find a job of some sort, though he rather thought he'd be rubbish at working for anyone, and anyway he had enough money from the death of his uncle to live in the flat he'd rented until school started, and enough money to rent another flat for several years after that if he needed it. His uncle had been a Black, and all Blacks had money, and this particular Black had left Sirius quite a bit of it. There was also the issue of his being the heir apparent to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, though his brother would more likely be given the inheritance when their mother finally took it upon herself to do the rest of the world a favor and croak in the attic. Anyway, even without his uncle, his mum would never let a Black go homeless, even if she _did_ hate him.

Sirius sighed and shot a spell at his telly again; surprisingly, it switched on, and there was a few minutes' worth of blinking, moving, talking pictures.

"I'm a genius," Sirius said softly, moving closer to the television as if it were some sort of alien specimen and observing it from every angle, tapping it with his wand whenever he felt it might make it work better.

Eventually, he sat back down on the couch, watching the people in the box move around, but shortly, the picture faded and the screen went black. But he was never much good at fixing things-that was more Remus's domain-and the next time he shot sparks or any spells of any kind at the telly, it only shuddered in return, and Sirius rather hated these machines and by extension the Muggles who made them.

The point was, he was _bored_; he'd brought home a fit Muggle the night before, and had barely even enjoyed it a little. He'd pretended to be asleep when she'd left, but now found himself wishing he'd convinced her to stay longer. It was horribly lonely in his flat, and he felt rather too pissed, too early to go down to another pub and convince another bird to sleep with him.

Instead, he stretched back out on his couch and set down the bottle of wine back down on the table. Perhaps a meal was in order, or a cigarette...

But when he closed his eyes, the world seemed to spin around him, and so Sirius Black decided he was quite ready to go to sleep.

* * *

"Hi." The word came from a bloke who'd just sat across from Lily at a local cafe.

Lily looked up from her copy of the _Daily Prophet_. "Doc," she said, smiling and putting her cigarette in the ash tray on the table. "How'd you find me?"

"I asked your mum."

Caradoc Dearborn leaned forward and kissed Lily's mouth. "How're the Dursleys?"

"They're good...boring and vapid and awful, but good," Lily said. "How's your apprenticeship?"

"Good...I've just met Alastor Moody, and he's _brilliant_, everything they say about him is completely true. He's-intense, I s'pose, and really clever, like-he can figure out what dark wizards are thinking before they think it, y'know?"

"What've they got you doing? Like, solving mysteries and all that lark?"

"Honestly, Lily, I'm not Sherlock Holmes, I'm only a student...I just fetch their coffee and help with paperwork."

"Sounds boring."

"It is. Listen, Lil-is this safe? Don't the-" he dropped his voice "-_Muggles_ notice that the pictures on your paper are moving?"

"They don't ever notice anything," Lily said carelessly. "And I've put a spell on the front page, look-they don't move."

Caradoc snorted and took a sip of his coffee. "Clever."

"Indeed." Lily picked her cigarette back up and looked back at the paper. "D'you know, I think the journalism in this thing gets worse every year. Look, this entire section is devoted to the antics of the captain of the English Quidditch team..."

"I think that's the Ministry's fault, though-they're trying to keep most of what's happening out of the news."

"But that's awful."

"I know. Can I bum a cigarette?"

She handed him one. "Haven't you got your own?"

"I'm trying to quit."

"Working well, I see."

"Hush. Have you got-" He looked down at the cigarette, seemingly at a loss for what to do next. "Wait, these aren't self-lighting?"

"No, I prefer Muggles."

"But how d'you light them without a wand?"

"I use a lighter, Caradoc."

"Er...a what, sorry?"

Lily laughed and lit the cigarette for him. "Inhale-right, good. There you are."

"Fascinating," he said, frowning at the lighter. "_Muggles_...blimey...the things they come up with to make up for not having magic..."

Lily laughed again as she stood up. "Come on, then...I promised Alice I'd meet her up for lunch, and since _you've_ ambushed me-"

"It's my only morning off this week-"

"-I guess I'll have to bring you with me."

"Will Frank be there? Or is this just going to be a two-birds-and-Cara thing?" Doc said as they left the cafe.

"Cara's never going to stick, you know. Everyone prefers Doc."

"Surely my _girlfriend_ can play into that fantasy for me..."

But Lily was no longer listening; she'd gotten distracted by a very distinctive movement in the corner of her eye, and was now frowning in that direction. Somehow, it was unsurprising that Severus had followed her here; she was unsure whether he was stalking her because he was slowly losing his mind or whether he genuinely wanted to protect her, but either way it was starting to get annoying. Never mind the fact that she'd lost her best friend; she'd also, apparently, lost the ability to go anywhere without a reminder of the sordid affair.

Without noticing she'd even taken her pack out, Lily lit another cigarette. The smoke felt like a comforting blanket over her lungs. She wondered what the effect of magic on lung disease was and thought it might be prudent to look it up when she got back to the Hogwarts library.

"And it's really ridiculous, because 'Doc Dearborn' just sounds like a name from a Charles Dickens novel," Caradoc was saying.

"What d'you know about Charles Dickens?" Lily asked, letting go of his hand to poke him in the side playfully. "Read _Great Expectations_, have you?"

"_David Copperfield_, actually."

"Naturally."

"Naturally," Caradoc agreed, stopping in the middle of the street to kiss her. She wondered if he hadn't seen Severus, too. "Now, were you planning on walking all the way to London, or did you have a more efficient form of travel in mind?"

"Relax," Lily said. "I've just got to stop at home and tell Mum I'll be out for the afternoon, and we can Apparate from inside my house."

"Your mum seems sweet," Caradoc said absently. "Just what you expect a mother to be like, really...she offered me lemonade and biscuits, said I needed fattening up."

"Yeah, she likes to do that lately. I think it's because Petunia's dieting for her wedding."

Caradoc snorted. "I imagine Petunia's less pleasant than your mum?"

"Quite."

"Ah."

They had, by now, reached Lily's house, and Lily called out upon entering to alert her mother to their presence. Almost immediately, Daniella appeared at the door, beaming at them.

"Lily! I met your friend earlier," she said. "Remind me of your name, sweetie?"

"Caradoc," Caradoc said.

"Not friend, Mum," Lily said. "_Boy_friend."

Daniella's smile widened. "Is that so? Come in, come in...you must have lunch, surely you know you can't live on coffee alone..."

"That's all right, Mum. We're going to London to have lunch with Alice."

"Alice?" Daniella's smile faded. "I haven't seen her in years, dear...how is she?"

"She was round our house all last summer, Mum," Lily reminded her quietly, though of course the previous summer had consisted mainly of Daniella watching telly expressionlessly while Petunia learned how to cook and clean and keep house.

"Ah...right," Daniella said, though Lily could tell she either couldn't remember or hadn't noticed.

"Listen, we'd best be off," Lily said. "I'll see you later, yeah?"

Daniella nodded, smiling down at Lily. "Probably for the best. I've got to help Petunia finalize her guest list today. Make sure you're not busy tomorrow, though, dear...remember, it's bridesmaid dress day!"

She looked at Caradoc. "And, Caradoc, dear, do come to our Petunia's wedding, won't you? We'll even give you a seat at our table!"

"_Mum_," Lily said, glaring at her. "You'd think you'd never seen me with a boy before, honestly."

"As long as it's not that Snape boy...your sister can't stand him."

"Good_bye_, Mum," Lily said.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Evans," Caradoc, who had noticeably stiffened at the mention of Severus, said. He let go of Lily's hand to wrap an arm around her shoulders as they spun, Apparating to the restaurant where they were to meet Alice. "Lily, you never dated Snape, did you?"

"No," Lily said boredly.

"It's just-you seemed pretty close for a while there."

"We were _friends_, Doc."

"Yes, but-then you weren't anymore. Almost as if you'd broken up."

"That's because we had," Lily said. "Don't you remember? Everyone in the school was talking about it...how Slughorn's favorite Mudblood had finally ditched her prejudiced arsehole of a best friend for James Potter."

"Don't call yourself that," Doc said. "And they were wrong about Potter. And you were still friends with Snape after!"

"We were best friends for years, Doc," Lily said.

"But people were saying-"

"Yes, and _I'm_ saying we never dated. Maybe he fancied me for a bit when we were younger, but we never dated...honestly, Doc, I'm sick of this argument and I can see Alice waiting for us through the window."

"Does she know I'm with you? And-he's a bit of a wanker as far as I'm concerned, to be honest."

"No, she doesn't. You didn't warn me before showing up at that cafe, remember?" Lily said, ignoring the second part of his question.

Caradoc sighed. "Right."

* * *

Alice Kennedy, too, was sitting at a table reading the _Daily Prophet_, though she was neither smoking nor drinking coffee. Instead, she was frowning at an article on the corner of the twelfth page, barely noticeable amidst the continuation of a story about some Quidditch player's recent marriage and the accompanying photographs, about the recent disappearance of a woman called Kristina Arshevik, whose name sounded ridiculously familiar.

She looked up at the opening of the restaurant's door, hand in her pocket wrapped around her wand, but the people who entered were only Lily and her boyfriend, Caradoc Dearborn. Alice's hand relaxed and she inwardly admonished herself for being so paranoid.

"Hi," she said, smiling. It seemed like it had been _ages_ since she'd seen Lily, but that, perhaps, was the consequence of having a boyfriend who was trying desperately to impress at his new job and was consequently barely ever able to spend them with her, several friends who were on holiday or had summer jobs-or, like Lily, were planning a wedding-and parents whose version of doting upon her involved saying, "Goodbye, dear!" before they left the house in the morning, leaving her feeling horribly alone nearly all of the time. She'd been spending most of her time at Flourish and Blotts reading the books that might be assigned for her classes the next term, though every so often she spent an afternoon at Fortecue's, eating ice cream and discussing wizard history and politics with the owner.

"Hello, Alice," Doc said, grinning as well. "I tagged along-hope you don't mind."

"Hello, Caradoc," Alice replied. "Not at all," though she did mind, a little bit.

"How's your week been?" Lily asked, and, _Merlin_, had it only been a week? Alice thought she needed to get a hobby, or perhaps more friends.

"Decent," Alice said. "I've been-you know. Hanging around. Having dinner with Frank. Or, well, taking dinner to his office and promptly getting kicked out with only a kiss on the forehead." She smiled, hoping she didn't seem too serious or bitchy, because really, she _did_ know Frank was busy, and he couldn't very well put his future aside just to entertain her, and Lily had her family and Mead had a summer job and Mary was on holiday in Spain.

Lily did not seem to notice the tension in Alice's voice, however, as a muscle in her jaw kept clenching. Her sunglasses were still on, and she was sitting fairly far away from Caradoc, leaning almost away from him, in fact, and Alice thought it was a bit strange they were together now when Lily had said their relationship had been strained all summer, with dates few and far between and letters terse and one-lined. Caradoc's arm was thrown over the back of the booth seat, and Lily was lighting a cigarette.

"Merlin, Lil, please don't smoke here...it was nice being able to breathe."

Lily put her cigarette down at once. "Sorry. I forgot." She blew some hair out of her face and drummed her fingers against the table in front of them. "Where's the waiter?"

"Should be round soon," Alice replied. "So how about you? How've you been?"

"Bored, mostly," Lily said. "I mean, I do _like_ shopping and sampling cake, but Petunia's bridesmaids are so _vapid_, and the Dursleys don't particularly like me..."

"Are they absolutely awful, Lily? It's bollocks that you've got to be stuck with Muggles all day long..."

"Well, no, they're not _awful_, but definitely boring..."

"I keep telling Lily she ought to write it all down," Caradoc said. "In, like, a journal...and she can publish it later, make millions of Galleons. 'The Most Muggle-y Muggles,' it'd be called..."

"You're so witty, Doc," Lily said dryly. "Honestly, why don't you become a comedian? You won't even need any N.E.W.T.s..."

The waiter appeared and offered to take their orders. Lily pushed her sunglasses up over her forehead and smiled at him. "Coffee, please."

"You've got to _eat_ something, Lils, c'mon," Caradoc said.

Lily rolled her eyes. "Fine. Er-what d'you recommend?"

They made their orders, and Caradoc's arm slid lazily to Lily's shoulders. She moved a bit closer to him.

"How about you, Doc?" Alice asked. "How've you been?"

Caradoc shrugged. "All right, I s'pose. Mostly I've just been fetching coffee and sending owls for more important wizards, but blimey, I met Alastor Moody the other day and he's a genius..."

"Yeah, that's what Frank says...can't wait to meet him."

"Why aren't _you_ doing the apprenticeship, Alice?"

"No connections. I haven't got Sy Dearborn to get me in, Doc."

Caradoc raised an eyebrow. "Simon didn't get me anything...I got it on my own merit as a clever, ambitious, and extremely promising Hogwarts student. It was my seven O.W.L.s, not my brother's position in the Ministry."

"Bollocks," Lily said. "You said yourself you'd never have gotten it without Sy."

Caradoc rolled his eyes. "Okay, yes, it was because of Sy, but it's not like _you_ lot don't use your connections..."

"D'you mean my connection to a stay at home Muggle mum?" Lily said. "Because _she_ got me a job at an Asda down the street."

"What's-"

"It's a Muggle supermarket chain."

"Don't think you had to prefix that with Muggle, really."

"Piss off."

But Lily was closer to Caradoc now; they looked like a proper couple, even stealing tidbits off each other's plates when their food came. It was strange, Alice thought; when she and Frank were together, they looked rather like old friends-they'd been together for so long now that it was like they'd been married for years. They sat next to each other, of course, and still had good long snogs every time they were in private, but in public they never-varied like this. They were all long stares and jokes, but they lacked the strange coldness between Doc and Lily now. Doc and Lily had already broken up three or four times before-Alice had lost count-and it seemed they were close to splitting again. Alice hoped it would be for good this time-it wasn't that she didn't like Doc, as he was Dorcas Meadowes' best mate, and Mead was _her_ best mate, and so she'd had to get used to his presence fairly early on, and she _did_ like him. She thought he was clever and supposed he was sort of funny, but anyone with two eyes could see he and Lily simply weren't right for one another.

"Anything interesting in there?" Lily asked, pointing to the _Prophet_. "I was reading it, but I got bored of Ludo Bagman."

"Yeah, there's-I mean, I think the Ministry's keeping some stuff quiet, but there's an interesting article here about the disappearance of this woman...Kristina Arshevik, have you heard of her?"

Lily frowned. "I dunno...her name sounds sort of familiar...Doc?"

"Isn't she that Muggle-loving woman? Didn't she write that editorial a few months ago?"

"Which?"

"Er...I don't remember. Something about baiting or rights or something."

Lily was tapping her water glass absently with her wand now; the liquid in it was changing from color to color as she did so, her lip between her teeth. "Who was she?"

"Who _is_ she," Alice corrected. "I can't remember, that's the problem-isn't she from, like, the Wizard and Muggle Alliance?"

"Wait, was she a Muggle?"

"_Is_ she," Alice said. "And-wait, yeah, I think she was-like, the mother of three wizards, though, maybe married one, too."

Caradoc frowned. "So she's a Muggle who was working toward a more equal Wizarding World?"

"I think so."

"And now she's dead."

"_Disappeared_."

"That's awful. Doc, you getting dessert?"

"Dessert? Who cares about dessert? A woman might be _dying_ because she cares about equality!"

"Can't save everyone," Doc said. "I was thinking the carrot cake..."

"But don't you think-if someone's killed this woman, right, or at least kidnapped her-I mean, it has to be for a reason. It was obviously politically motivated."

"You can't know that. Someone might've just not liked her." Lily took a drink of water. "Alice, if her death _was_ politically motivated, then of course it matters-but we can't know it was just from this article. The _Prophet_ just needed to fill space and picked something vaguely relevant."

"And even if it _was_ politically motivated, one murder's not going to change the world."

(But, Alice would think later, that precise murder _did_ change the world-it was just that none of them noticed it at the time.)

"But the cause that motivated it could," Alice argued.

"I s'pose. D'you know what, I'm not too keen on carrot cake," Lily said.

"I can't believe you don't care about this," Alice said.

"I _do_, Alice, honest...but it's not like just caring about something like this ever did any good, and we can't very well chase down the woman and whoever...made her disappear."

"The Ministry's barely even investigating it," Alice said dully.

"Why would they? To them she's just a miscellaneous Muggle disappearance."

"Then why'd the _Prophet_ report it?"

"Because the Ministry's not letting them talk about anything important and they're fishing for stories and there's only so much space the English Quidditch captain can honestly take up. He's not even interesting, look, he's not womanizing, he doesn't drink or do any drugs...I think all he does is play Quidditch and watch telly."

"Do Quidditch players have tellies?"

"Not the point, Lil."

"And anyway, I think if it does turn out to be, like, the symptom of some greater problem or something, the wizarding populace will put it down," Caradoc continued. "If you ask me, people won't stand for the whole killing Muggles thing-they didn't with Grindelwald."

"Grindelwald wasn't systematic, though. He was chaotic. If someone could do it carefully and quietly, get rid of the dissenters, I mean, then that someone could easily make for a wizard-controlled world."

"Well, it's dangerous, yeah, but I don't think the wizarding people will let that happen. I think we're better than that."

But Alice did not have quite have the same faith in the general wizarding population that Caradoc had; she wondered if her argument might get more traction with Frank, but right now, Lily was fiddling distractedly with her fork and Caradoc was staring in another direction entirely. Alice sighed.

"Coffee," Lily told the waiter when he returned for dessert orders, and Caradoc rolled his eyes.

"I've got to get back to the Ministry," he said. "Alice, you coming? I think Frank's lunch hour's in a bit, you could at least keep him company."

Alice smiled. "Yeah, yeah, course. You don't mind, do you, Lil?"

Lily shook her head. "I'll just have my coffee here and go."

"Thanks, Lils," Doc said. "I'll see you later, yeah?"

He kissed her cheek and dropped a Galleon on the table.

Alice sighed as she left the restaurant with Caradoc and walked to an Apparition point with him. "How's it going with you and Lily?" she asked.

"Great," Caradoc replied, and Alice wondered if he even knew he was lying. "We've been busy, but when we're together it's great."

They spun at the Apparition point, and Alice rather thought the Doc/Lily shtick was getting old.

* * *

The first time James saw Lily that summer was when he was aimlessly wandering Diagon Alley with Peter and she accidentally bumped into him, then stepped back, expression a little surprised before it filled with contempt.

"Excuse me," she said stiffly, but James was floored: her hair was shorter now, he noticed, skin a little more pink than usual, as if she'd been spending too much time in the sun. She was in Muggle clothing, and her arms showed still more pink skin, chafing a little under the bag over her shoulder. The fingers wrapped around her coffee cup were adorned with pale blue nail polish. She smelled faintly of cigarettes and a pair of sunglasses covered her eyes. She looked like pure summer.

"Sorry," he muttered, running a hand through my hair and stepping aside so she could pass, and her expression again showed faint surprise before she pushed past. He turned and watched her for a moment. "Evans!"

She turned around again. "Potter."

"I hate to see you go," he said. "But I love to watch you leave."

She flushed a bit, and-true to form-moved her hands immediately to her hips. "That was probably the stupidest possible thing you could have said."

"It was short notice," he said, smiling in a way he hoped was apologetic but probably came off as cocky, and Lily rolled her eyes (though later, James would swear he saw her lips twitch), turned back around, kept walking away.

It was true, though, he thought, watching her legs, which went on forever under her shorts. He_did_ love to watch her leave. "Bleeding Muggle clothes," he mumbled under his breath, before returning to the task at hand: entertaining Peter.

"Merlin, _why_ does she hate me, Pete?"

"I'd say it's 'cause you're a bit of a bellend, really, James."

"Right," James said. "Right. But I haven't hexed anyone in ages..."

"Except Snivelly."

"Well, he deserved it. I saved his arse and he _still_ provoked me."

Peter laughed, but James could tell he was already losing interest in the conversation. It was not, after all, a new topic.

"We could go to a pub," he suggested. "Your brother works at the Leaky Cauldron, doesn't he?"

"Nah, my mum doesn't want me drinking hard liquor and my brother'd grass," Peter said. "And he'd never give us free drinks."

"Well, there was this one in west London that Pad-that someone used to recommend all the time."

"I'm tired of getting pissed and snogging Muggle birds, James," Peter said. "Isn't there _anything_else we can do?"

"Quidditch?"

"Cor, James, are Quidditch and alcohol the only things you think about?" Peter frowned, staring in the direction Lily had gone. "And Lily Evans, of course..."

"Course not. I think about loads of things."

"For example...?"

"Politics. I think about politics loads."

"Who's prime minister?"

"I don't bleeding know, I'm not a Muggle, am I?"

"How can you not know who the prime minister is? His name is _James_. You've got _the same name_."

"Apologies if I don't know everyone in Britain with the same name as me! Ask a Muggle if they know who Minister of Magic is! Go on, ask one-"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Merlin, you've gotten boring."

"I am not _boring_, you're just-difficult to please."

Peter sighed. "Fine, then. Let's go to that pub."

James ran a hand through his hair. "We could go to Zonko's."

"James..."

"No, come on-we could set off some dungbombs in the Ministry of Magic, it'd be fun-"

Peter sighed. "How d'you think Remus is faring with that Emma bint?"

"Probably not well. He's awful with women."

"Says the bloke who's just got turned down by a girl for the ten thousandth time..."

"It's been the same girl every time, I think that only counts as one."

"Right," Peter said, rolling his eyes. "Well, I'm proper knackered, James...Think I'll just go home and have a nap."

James ran a hand through his hair again, willing himself to think about anything but the backs of Lily's legs. "But I thought we were going to hang out-you know, like proper mates..."

"Oh, shut up, James, we hang out all the time..."

"Yes, but not _alone_."

Peter sighed. "Fine," he said. "Bleeding _fine_, but only because you look gutted every time Evans turns you down. You're a needy tosser, you know that?"

But James was already grinning and tossing an arm carelessly around Peter's shoulders. "C'mon, we can set them off in the visitors' center...won't even count as breaking any laws, I don't think."

And as he and Peter Apparated to Hogsmeade, James really did believe it'd be fun to harass some Ministry workers. He also thought it was rather stupid of him to get so hung up on one girl, even if she did have rather pretty eyes and spectacular legs, and as such he decided that this time would be the last.

It was a strangely freeing feeling, he thought, as Peter pointed out that dungbombs were superbly marked up at Zonko's and they'd be better off buying stink capsules and planting them in odd places so they'd go off within the next few days. "A delayed prank," Peter said excitedly. "It's clever, because we don't even need to be there and we'll still be annoying people."

But James was not listening to him; rather, he was contemplating the positives and negatives of doting upon Lily Evans while pretending to examine a trick wand. She _was_ rather pretty, that much was true...and she was funny, too, and fiercely loyal...wouldn't hear a word against Snape even when he was calling her a Mudblood in front of half the school. And he thought she smelled nice, too, like cigarettes and perfume and something else, something he couldn't place...

But she was also difficult, and her sense of humor seemed to explicitly exclude him. She was a bit of a prig, and cared too much, he thought, for the pedantic rules he fought so hard to ignore. She took herself too seriously, or at least, she took life too seriously, and perhaps that was why she'd never liked him. _Well_, said a voice in his head that sounded strangely like Remus's, _that and the constant sexual harassment..._. It was a stupid crush, really, one she clearly didn't reciprocate or even enjoy, and it was thus that James decided he may as well leave the poor girl alone. And anyway, she was much too frustrating to deal with on a daily basis, and that frustration was only getting more and more apparent for James as he noticed her anal tendencies more and more.

"Those are stupid," Peter said, gesturing to the fake wand.

James dropped it as if it had burned him. "Too right, mate."

"Still...might prove to be fairly annoying."

"Especially if slipped into the right person's pocket."

"At precisely the right time."

"In precisely the right place."

A smile was spreading slowly across Peter's face. He added several of the wands to his armful of stink capsules and began to make his way to the register. "This'll be _brill_," he said.

James frowned. "Brill's gotten a bit stale, hasn't it?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "I know you find linguistics fascinating, but you're never going to invent your own language."

"Shut up, Peter, do you even know what linguistics is?"

"Course I do. I'm not thick, you know."

"Fooled me."

Peter sighed, and with a sudden pang James realized how deeply and awfully he missed Sirius; in the next instant, however, he reminded himself that Sirius was a would-be murdering traitor who'd nearly ended Snape's life and almost ruined Remus's, and thus there was no need for him to feel any sort of sympathy toward him at all.

And thus it was that James Potter walked out of Zonko's feeling-though admittedly only ostensibly-as though he had cut away two rotting limbs and was now wandering the world crippled but otherwise healthy.

Peter was talking to him, undoubtedly about how they would get to the Ministry, but James wasn't paying attention; there was an England Quidditch World Cup qualifying match that weekend, and James rather thought he might like to go.

* * *

Remus, as it turned out, was faring quite well with "that Emma bint," as she had neither turned down his advances nor insulted him once in the entire time they'd been together.

Emma, Remus quickly realized, was sweet. She laughed at all of Remus's jokes and even offered to pay for lunch (though Remus, naturally, paid anyway). She thought his stories about the Marauders (conspicuously devoid of magic) were hilarious, and she thought he was clever.

And Remus quite liked her: she, too, was clever. She kept bar to pay for her flat in Durham, where she went to school, and she was in London for the summer working for some politician, keeping bar at night to pay for her flat _there_. She hoped to one day be prime minister, "or at least his wife," she told him, winking, and thought it rather off-putting that there were so few females in government.

"I think women have the perfect temperament for it," she said.

"How'd you mean?" Remus asked.

"Well, some of them are rather bitchy, which I suppose would be good, and others aren't."

"So what you're saying is they're just like men's temperaments?"

"Precisely."

She also liked football, though she was an Everton fan ("I'm from Liverpool, anyway, and really, it's just hard not to love the way they pass the ball," she insisted when Remus shook his head sadly at her), and apparently often played pick up with her mates ("Though the blokes catcall the whole time," she told him glumly).

She read the news all the time, and Remus found himself learning things about the Muggle world that he'd never even thought vaguely interesting before-things about wars in Asia and the Soviet Union, and sure, he'd gone to a Muggle primary school and been raised by a Muggle father, but how many ten year olds paid much attention to international politics? And whenever he was at his dad's now, he defaulted to only watching footy on telly and largely ignored the evening news, as his dad always said it was too depressing.

Emma even had good taste in music, as she would show him later, when they went back to her flat and she put on one of her Beatles records ("It's a first edition," she said gleefully, "signed by John and everyone!") just before he cupped a hand around her neck and brought her mouth to his.

The best part of Emma, though, was the way she smiled when she thought he wasn't looking; she had this far off look in her eyes, like she was thinking about the future, and she was so positively brimming with ambition that Remus had to find it appealing.

"D'you know you're stunning?" he said to her suddenly, over his bowl of soup and her plate of pasta.

She smiled up at him. "D'you really think so?"

He grinned back.

**A/N:** And there's the first chapter! It's a lot of setup, a lot of character and relationship establishment, and the second chapter has a lot of this too, but I'm hoping you guys enjoy it anyway. Please leave a review if you enjoyed this (or even if you didn't-constructive criticism is always helpful). Thanks for reading, and many thanks to my beta Dana for all her help!

The line, "You should have known, Peter, that if Voldemort did not kill you, we would" is from Chapter 18, Moony Wormtail Padfoot and Prongs, of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban by JK Rowling.


	3. The Athleticism of Football

**The Athleticism of Football and the Alcohol Content of Sangria**

Lily had never had a job.

Lily was friendly, and very pretty, and mostly quite patient, but the fact was that Lily had never had a job and so she had never had to deal with moody customers.

Thus, it was quite a shock when she found herself standing behind a counter that summer, getting berated by an elderly woman who swore her coupon wasn't expired.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Lily said. "But I simply can't scan it anymore...it just won't work."

"Are you trying to rip me off? Stupid girl...you've not got a clue what you're doing, have you? Call your supervisor, I'll have a word with him...Honestly, Britain's going to the dogs if they've got people like _you_ working at the grocery store..."

Lily gaped at her. Her boss, Rachel, swooped in to the rescue: "Excuse me, Mrs. Lawrence...I'm very sorry, but we simply can't take this coupon. If you'd like, I can take it up with the Asda heads."

The woman called Mrs. Lawrence sniffed at Rachel. "Fine. But you shouldn't be expecting _my_ patronage anytime soon."

Rachel rolled her eyes at the back of Mrs. Lawrence's head as the older woman departed, turning to Lily. "Sorry, Lily. Mrs. Lawrence is a bit of a regular character here...she pops by every week with an expired coupon for fava beans."

"Er...what are fava beans?"

"I've no idea," Rachel replied. "But apparently she loves them."

Lily sort of hated her job, but, she thought as she walked home, it did make for a rather nice break from the wedding monotony. In fact, compared to the house full of squealing bridesmaids and an increasingly stressed Petunia, Mrs. Lawrence was practically a puppy.

Lily sighed, unlocking the door and tip-toeing carefully past the living room lest its occupants notice her arrival. But she was unlucky:

"Lily, is that you?" her mother called from inside the room.

"Yes, Mum," Lily replied wearily, debating Stunning all the bridesmaids, taking a nap, and erasing their memories once she'd woken up.

Instead, she plastered a smile onto her face and entered the room. As she'd expected, Petunia and three of her closest friends were already sat around the coffee table, addressing invitations.

"Lily!" Petunia said. "Thank God you're finally here, we've needed your input on dress colors for ages..."

"I was at work, Tuney, not playing footy at the park."

"Well, sit down, then," Petunia insisted.

"Listen, Lily," Petunia's friend Melissa said. "We really want pink, but Pet says it'll clash with your hair-what do you think of dying it?"

"I'm not dying my hair for a wedding," Lily said, rolling her eyes. "What shade of pink?"

"Never mind," Petunia said dismissively. "I've already told them I'd prefer _blue_...Vernon's partial to gold, of course-"

"But as he's the groom," Melissa said, giggling, "_his_ say doesn't particularly count for much."

Lily groaned inwardly and resigned herself to an afternoon with Petunia's awful mates, but as she reached for an invitation to address Petunia slapped her hand away.

"Your hands are filthy," she said. "And those are _white_!"

"Right," Lily said. "I'll go wash up."

As she made her way up the stairs to her bedroom, she wondered if Petunia had made the excuse for her to leave on purpose, both with the knowledge that Lily was hardly the type to find the bridesmaids dresses particularly interesting and with the desire to get her freak of a sister away from her perfect friends. Whichever it was, Lily was thankful, and she climbed into her bed without even changing out of the clothes she'd worn to work.

It seemed only moments later that she was at the wedding, fully dressed in a vivid magenta. She wondered when Petunia had had time to change her mind about the dresses, but that was beside the point, which was that Vernon was bringing the rings down the aisle to the happy couple.

Lily could feel her face almost tearing in two from the smile she'd plastered onto her face in an effort to convince Petunia that she was really, properly happy for her, but as Petunia's groom took his top hat off, Lily's world began to spin around her.

"Do you, Petunia Evans, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?" said the priest, who for some reason greatly resembled Albus Dumbledore-though Lily felt certain that his name was in fact Christopher...and as she looked at him, he began to look more and more like her father than her Headmaster, and Lily blew her hair out of her face, as it was inexplicably messy even though this was _Petunia_'s wedding and really, that made no sense-

"I do," Petunia said, and she looked twelve years old again, and the flowers she was holding looked ridiculously similar to the ones Lily had charmed for her all those years ago.

"And do you, Severus Snape, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Severus looked for all the world as if he loved Petunia, had even washed and cut his hair for the wedding, and beamed at her. "I do," he said, and _he_ looked younger, too, like he had on the day Lily had first met him...

"Sev!" she shouted from her place at Petunia's side. "Sev, no!"

But Severus could not hear her; he leaned forward to kiss Petunia, but beside him James Potter was screaming, and the sun was blinding her, really, only hadn't they just been in a church? And suddenly the landscape behind them was all mountains and wilderness and ridiculously beautiful, but it was all on fire, and somehow that was beautiful, too-

Lily sat up in the semi-darkness of her room, looking around calculatingly. The room was empty; she was not in a valley at a wedding; in fact, if she thought about it, she could recall that it was a Wednesday in July and Petunia was going to marry Vernon Dursley and James Potter would certainly not be at the wedding. She poured herself a glass of water from the jug she'd taken to keeping at her nightstand and drank it quickly before pushing open her window and lighting a cigarette.

Her hands were shaking and she could not figure out why. The dream hadn't been awful, after all, only ridiculous...

She exhaled and watched the lungful of smoke swirl in the wind before dissipating.

The thing was, she'd lied to Caradoc the other day, or at least, she hadn't told the entire truth. She and Sev _had_ sort of stopped being friends after that fateful spring afternoon in fifth year, but they'd made up over the summer because there was a part of her-a stupid yet ridiculously stubborn part, she could admit to herself-that believed if she hung around him, perhaps he would not become what she knew he wanted to become.

And so she and Severus had still been friends for a while, or at least, they'd tried to be. She'd known he was all tangled up in dark magic, known that his mates were pure evil, and yet she'd let him study with her all the time, even arguing with Caradoc about the sort of shattered friendship several times. She thought at least one of the times they'd broken up might have been because of Severus-who, of course, loved that fact.

But their last interaction had involved their splitting up for good, as Severus had laughed off Mulciber's rumored attempt to Imperius Mary (and, Lily thought with a shudder, what he could have done to her had it worked) and spent most of their conversation complaining about James Potter. Severus was obsessed with Potter, almost as if he were in love with him...but Lily knew better. She wasn't daft, after all; anyone could see that Severus had been completely jealous of James Potter's talent on the Quidditch field and popularity, though she didn't quite know why, as Sev was clever and funny and not awful looking, if only he'd wash his hair...

But he and his mates were evil, and it had dawned upon Lily that so was he. She knew James Potter was a wanker, but there was a difference between immature prick and evil...and Severus, she thought sadly, had definitely become the latter. And, if she recalled correctly, Potter had started to shed the immature wanker personality...she hadn't had to give him a detention in ages, and he _had_ saved Sev if rumors were to be believed, so if anything, it was Potter who was progressing and Severus whose immersion in the Dark Arts was only getting worse.

She blew her hair out of her face, then thought better of it and twisted it all into a bun, holding her cigarette in her mouth and wishing her window was bigger.

Still, the late evening air was crisp and fresh on her face, though she was much more awake now than she would have liked to be. She vanished the cigarette butt with her wand and wondered what the physics of stretching her window from the inside while maintaining its outward appearance might be.

She did not feel at all guilty about pretending she hadn't been friends with Severus. Her other friends had given her grief about him for years, and they'd been _right_, but there had still been that part of her that had wanted to save him. She didn't even feel bad about lying to Caradoc, although at least once she'd sort of come clean to him and at least once they'd broken up over it. Perhaps she should have felt more guilty, but, she thought, twisting her wand in her fingers, she couldn't bring herself to care. Perhaps Doc had been right to break up with her that time...

Her mother knocked on the door, and Lily coughed, wordlessly vanishing the smoke that had made its way inside her bedroom. "Come in!" she called.

"Lily, dear," Daniella said. "I've got some dinner for you in the oven if you're hungry...Petunia wants to know why you never came back to the living room."

"I meant to close my eyes for a second and I fell asleep," Lily admitted.

"Why's your wand out?" Daniella asked, frowning at it.

"I was just-tidying up a bit," Lily lied.

Daniella surveyed the room, which wasn't disgusting by any means but which had certainly not recently been tidied up. "Right," she said. "Well, there's dinner in the kitchen. Do come down soon."

Lily smiled toothily at her. "Right. Thanks, Mum."

Her mother frowned at her. "I'm going to bed, dear. Goodnight."

"It's not nine o'clock!" Lily protested, feeling a little disappointed that her mother's apparent transformation did not seem to be permanent. She wondered what would happen once Petunia had moved out and Lily had gone to school.

"It's been a long day," Daniella replied. "Sleep well, darling." She made to close the door. "Oh, and Lily-do stop smoking indoors."

* * *

It had been a long and boring Quidditch match. England had finally caught the Snitch in the hundredth minute, with the score even at nil-nil. James had seemed on the edge of his seat the entire time, but Peter had stopped paying attention after fifty scoreless minutes and had begun vanishing the hairs on the head of the bloke sitting in front of him. Remus, meanwhile, had brought a book and had seemed engrossed in it since the fourth time the English Keeper had chucked the Quaffle all the way across the pitch, as if in effort to score from his position at the goal hoops.

"I can't believe neither of you were entertained," James said as they walked away from the stadium. "Honestly, that was the most tense match I've ever seen."

"Nothing _happened_."

"And that's why! You knew every time someone got the Quaffle it could change the match-"

"Not _really_, though."

"Er, yeah, it could."

"Course it couldn't," Remus said. "The team that caught the Snitch would naturally have won. No one was about to score sixteen times."

"No, it's much more complicated than that-listen, the Chasers could've gained confidence and the Keeper of the opposing team lost it, right, which would have-"

"Face it, James," Remus said, sounding bored. "Quidditch is a one man sport with six other men up there to entertain everyone."

"Maybe they should cut the Seeker out," Peter said.

"Er, no, they shouldn't," James said. "That'd destroy the integrity of the game, honestly, Peter, it's like you don't even know the rules."

"You can't honestly believe the Seeker's not the only important player," Remus said. "Has a team _ever_ won the British league with a mediocre Seeker?"

"Falmouth in 1968," James said at once. "Their Beaters were bleeding brutal, utterly annihilated the opposition every week."

"So that the Seeker could catch the Snitch."

Peter sighed and thought it might be time to change the subject. "Remus, how's it going with Emma?"

"She's really lovely," Remus said. "Like, obviously she's beautiful, but she's also really clever and sort of funny. Only problem is she's a Toffee."

"What's a-"

"Everton fan."

"What's an-"

"Football club. It's fine, though, because she's from Liverpool...not that a glory hunter'd even think about supporting Everton now, honestly, Liverpool are having a spectacular run and Everton's manager's got them in the-"

(It would be hilarious and yet somehow not when, nine months later, Remus would yelp at the wireless as Everton placed two spots higher in the Football League than did Arsenal, and he would think about Emma and wonder if she was thinking about him.)

But James and Peter both rolled their eyes, and Remus stopped. "Whatever, at least football requires actual athletic talent."

"What-are you saying Quidditch doesn't?" James said incredulously.

"What if I am?"

Peter sighed as the conversation devolved into yet another which-sport-is-better argument and thought Muggles rather had the right idea with their tellies. He craved firewhiskey and thought it was very possible he was becoming an alcoholic.

"What d'you think, Peter?" Remus said.

"Peter likes Quidditch, of course," James said. "Because he's not _mental_."

There was a moment when Peter thought he might disagree with James, just because it might break the monotony, but the moment passed and Peter shrugged apologetically at Remus.

"It _is_ played on brooms, mate."

Remus rolled his eyes; James pumped his fist in triumph; Peter rather missed Sirius.

* * *

Alice was learning spells.

This was not something she'd started to do so she'd get better grades, or because she thought it was fun, or even because she thought it might be beneficial. Rather, it had seemed like her brain was rotting between her ears, what with the limited amount of social interaction and mental stimulation her summer had borne, and Alice had taken matters into her own hands.

Her best mate, Dorcas Meadowes, worked at Flourish and Blotts and let Alice borrow a book at at time free of charge, which led to her taking extensive notes on the spells she found most interesting and practicing them any time she got a chance. What was difficult was perfecting the ones that were meant to be performed on other people-Frank helped when he wasn't at work, but the fact was that he usually _was_, and the Kennedys' house-elf was both lacking in the necessary anatomy and much too sweet looking.

Instead, Alice had practiced on flies and spiders, knowing full well that the spells would be infinitely more difficult on a more genetically complex (and big) species, but, she assured herself, most of the spells were just for fun anyway. Her favorite, of late, was "Hominem Revelio," especially when she was sneaking into the Auror trainees' office for a quick snog. It was quite a good spell for sneaking around, as it could be used to warn one when someone else was coming, and Alice even thought she might have a leg up on the Marauders with this one.

Alice was at Flourish and Blotts now, sipping a butterbeer she'd just bought from the Leaky Cauldron and flipping through an ancient tome as Mead sat down across from her.

"It's been an awful day, Al. And it's only going to get worse."

"Yeah? Why's that?"

"Because _Hogwarts letters_ came today, so everyone's been stampeding the bloody place...honestly, it's not as though we're going to run out...we order enough books that every young wizard in Britain could buy two."

"Hogwarts letters came today?" Alice asked, her stomach doing a funny sort of tumble. She had left her house before the post had come, but was now regretting that decision. What if-

But no. She couldn't be. She hadn't been the prefect for their year, and Dumbledore _never_ picked a non-prefect. It had to be someone else. Lily, perhaps, or Dani Anderson. Dani Anderson was clever, and Lily was quite good at ordering people about...

But Alice was clever too, and she could order people about if she needed to. She could direct first years to their common rooms. It would be easy, ridiculously, ridiculously easy...

And it would spectacular on her resume, that she, Alice Kennedy, had been so good at Hogwarts, so beloved by the professors and students alike, that the Headmaster would make her Head Girl without her ever having been a prefect.

"Yeah," Dorcas was saying. "You didn't get yours?"

"Nah, I haven't been home since early...do you know who-"

"I have no idea," Dorcas said. "I think Head Girl's fairly set in stone, don't you? Obviously it'll be Lily, none of the other prefects have got brains..."

"Dani Anderson's not exactly stupid," Alice said. "And anyway, who says it has to be a prefect?"

"It's _always_ a prefect."

"Who d'you think the bloke will be? Remus Lupin?"

"Nah, Remus has to go home and take care of his mum too often. What if it's Severus Snape?"

"Can't be, he's obsessed with the Dark Arts."

"Dumbledore might not know that, though...Imagine if it's Lily and Snape...those'd be the awkwardest prefect meetings ever."

"Dumbledore knows everything," Alice said. "And I'm sure Lily would boycott those meetings in a heartbeat."

"Or they'd become mates again and think they were hiding it from us like they did last year."

Alice snorted. "Maybe it's Caradoc."

"Oh, yeah, I hope it's Doc...if nothing else, he can schedule the Hogsmeade weekends really strategically."

Alice looked back down at her book. "Hey, Mead...what time do you get off work today?"

"Oh no, Alice Kennedy, you are _not_ practicing your magic on me..."

"But Frank's at work and Lily's planning a wedding and Mary's in Spain...oh, come on, Mead, please? I'll even teach you how to make flowers shoot out of someone's arse, look-"

"Is that a real spell?"

"You'll never know if you don't help me out..."

Dorcas sighed. "_Fine_, but if you give me tentacles or something you're paying the hospital bills."

* * *

Lily was sitting on the kitchen counter, coffee mug in hand, discussing seating arrangements with her mum, when an owl came through the open window that warm August morning.

"Must be your Hogwarts letter," Daniella said, putting bread in the toaster. "How many new books do you need?"

"I dunno, there shouldn't be too many new ones..." But the letter was strangely heavy, and after failing to open it civilly several times, Lily had to tear the envelope to get at the parchment inside.

"How about potions supplies? I just need to budget it in separately, dear...With your sister's wedding we're running a bit tight, but we haven't touched your father's life insurance..."

But Lily was no longer listening; instead, she was staring, open-mouthed, at what had fallen into her lap.

"Mum," she said, and her voice sounded strangely high-pitched. "Mum, I think I've been made Head Girl."

Her mother turned to look at her. "Oh, really, Lily? That's nice, dear...Er, what does it mean?"

"It's like-it's like the head prefect. It's typically awarded to the top girl in each year."

"Oh, Lily, that's brilliant! Congratulations!" Daniella beamed at her, then wrapped her in a hug. "We've got to celebrate! Is it too early for champagne, d'you think?"

"Er-a bit, yeah."

"Over dinner, then. That's spectacular, Lily, really! Just fantastic!"

"Mum, you hardly know what it is," Lily said, a little embarrassed but pleased nonetheless.

"No, but it sounds important. Come on, then, we've got to get you to your dress sizing...Petunia's meeting us at the dress shop, she's gone to pick up her other bridesmaids."

Lily sighed, setting her letter down on the counter beside her. "All right, but I've got to be at work by two-thirty..."

Daniella smiled at her again, but Lily had already slid off the counter and was tucking her wand into her pocket. "Come on, then," she said wearily.

Daniella kept asking Lily questions about the Head Girl position and her duties, but Lily was on autopilot. Caradoc, she was sure, would have gotten Head Boy...she hadn't actually heard from him since he'd ambushed her the day she'd gone to lunch with Alice a few weeks before, and she wondered if he'd even been home to receive his owl. It had to be Caradoc...and sure, that might be awkward if they ever broke up, but Caradoc was a decent human being and Lily thought it'd probably be fine anyway.

And if it wasn't Caradoc, surely it would be Rob Walcott. But no, it couldn't be...he'd skived off his patrols at least three times in the last year, and he didn't seem to care much about enforcing the rules. If there was one prefect she was _sure_ wouldn't get it, it was certainly Walcott.

It _could_, of course, be Remus Lupin-but he seemed to spend most of his time either breaking rules with his friends or going home to visit his sick mum, and Dumbledore's apparent plot to put an end to the Marauders' marauding had gone awry-instead of getting _more_ detentions for the trouble they got into, they got _fewer_ because Lupin would never punish his mates.

But that only left Severus...and if working with Caradoc post-break up would have been awkward, working with Severus at all would be torture. Lily actually shuddered at the thought, twirling a lock of hair around her finger absentmindedly. But anyway, Dumbledore had to know that Severus was knee-deep in the Dark Arts...there was no way he'd make him Head Boy.

Yes, Lily thought, yes, it couldn't be anyone but Caradoc. She resolved to write him as soon as she got out of work and wondered vaguely how he'd take the news-whether he'd be pleased for her or have the same reservations she did.

*

Despite her mother's assurances, dinner with Daniella, Petunia, Vernon, and a bottle of celebratory champagne was terrible.

Vernon still did not know Lily was a witch, and Petunia was refusing to tell him. That would have been fine on its own, but apparently pretending to be a Muggle also included pretending to be an idiot, as Petunia seemed determined to undermine Lily's Head Girlship.

"Surely that's a bit of a joke?" she was saying. "Something they give the problem child to make sure she behaves? A figurehead type thing?"

Lily was furious; the hand she had wrapped around the stem of her champagne glass was shaking, and she was unsure just how tight her hand could get before the glass shattered.

"No," Lily said, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's given to the top witch in seventh year."

"Top _what_?" Vernon said, frowning.

"The top wench," Petunia said, glaring at Lily.

"Bit degrading, isn't it?" Vernon said. "Calling yourself a wench?"

"Just want to be like my big sister," Lily said, smiling sweetly and carefully unwrapping her hand from the stem of the glass and placing it in her lap. She was desperately craving a cigarette, but did not dare light one at the table; her mother would surely have a heart attack, and it had been so long since Daniella had eaten at a restaurant with Lily of her own volition that Lily was on her very best behavior.

Well, sort of. "Thing is," Lily continued. "Before you came along, we did think Petunia'd never find a husband."

"Er..." Vernon said, glancing at his fiancee awkwardly.

"We didn't think any man would want to make her honest after experiencing her _dis_honesty so many times-"

"_Lily_!" her mouther said, eyes wide and angry. "Apologize to your sister!"

Petunia looked too furious to speak. Her teeth were grinding against one another very visibly, and the hand holding her fork had lost all pretense of propriety and was simply wrapped around it, like a child who hadn't yet learned how to eat properly.

"Sorry," Lily said. "I s'pose I'm just too much of a _problem child_ to understand how to be polite-"

Daniella sighed. "Lily, we haven't even had dessert."

Lily bit down on her lip to prevent herself from saying anything more, immediately feeling awful for having upset her mother. She wanted a cigarette. Her salad was no longer even a little bit appetizing.

"I'm sorry, Petunia," she mumbled.

Petunia exhaled through her teeth. "Apology accepted," she said stiffly, and Lily wanted to stab herself with her fork.

The waiter returned to take their dessert orders, and while they were awaiting their chocolate mousses, Lily excused herself to go to the bathroom. Naturally, however, she simply left the restaurant for a cigarette.

There were several other smokers out there, one of whom looked over at her as soon as she pulled out her Luckies and offered a light.

"A lady should never light her own cigarettes," he said, smiling.

"Who says I'm a lady?" she asked, taking her first drag and immediately feeling the tension in her back relax away.

"Call it an educated guess."

"Based on what? I'm not smoking women's cigarettes, I'm wearing trousers, and I'm very noticeably tipsy."

"Yeah, but you've got good hair," the bloke said.

"Have I?" Lily said, tilting her head to the side and examining him. He wasn't bad looking, with dark eyes and darker hair and a friendly-looking smile. "So've you, but you're not exactly a lady."

"You don't know that. I could be in disguise."

"I've yet to see a disguise that good."

"Are you calling me especially masculine?"

"I'm calling you especially unladylike."

The bloke snorted. "I'm Alan," he said.

"Lily. Nice to meet you."

"You too, Lily." Alan was smiling again. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"I'm here with my family, actually," she said. "Just came out for the cigarette."

"Husband? Children?"

"Do I look old enough for a husband and children? I've got to find a new cleanser..."

Alan laughed. "No, course you don't. I was just probing."

"D'you always probe that poorly?"

"Nah, usually I'm a great prober."

"So it's just with me that you're shit?"

"We'll just have to figure that out, haven't we?"

Alan had moved dangerously close now, and Lily had to step away to put distance between them. "Listen, I...I'm not exactly looking for anything here. I really did just want a cigarette, and I have to go back inside now."

Alan's smile did not falter. "Telephone number? I'll ring you tomorrow."

"I meant-I'm not looking for a-a bloke or whatever. To-to probe around with."

"Ah."

"I've got a boyfriend."

"Right." Alan had moved closer again, and he really was attractive, and Lily was tipsy and upset...

"I've got to go inside," she said.

Alan sort of lurched away from her, his smile reappearing before Lily had even noticed it had slipped away. "I'll see you around, then, Lily," he said. "And-do let me know if you end up wanting that drink."

"Er-yeah, I will," she said, slipping back into the restaurant to catch her breath.

It wasn't that she didn't love Caradoc, she told herself upon sitting down at the table and downing yet another glass of champagne. It was just-she was drunk, sort of, and angry, and that was lowering her boundaries and making her more likely to do something she'd regret...yes, that was it...she always had been a bit of a slutty drunk...

It was with a stomach full of sickening guilt, champagne, and barely a spoonful of chocolate mousse that Lily attempted to go to bed that evening, and when the world spun and lurched around her she almost hoped she would throw up.

* * *

When they'd been much, much younger, after their first year at Hogwarts, James and Sirius had figured out the spot exactly halfway between their houses-an alleyway between two factories that smelled terrible. It turned out to not be very far on their magically-altered bicycles ("We can do magic so long as we're surrounded by other wizards," Sirius had insisted when James voiced his lack of desire to get expelled), and it had rapidly become the spot they'd both sneak out to whenever they were bored. It was a symbol of just how close they were that whenever one of them went there, the other would turn up soon after-or perhaps it was only a symbol of how quickly twelve year old boys grew bored.

The last time James had been there had been the summer after fifth year, when Sirius had moved out of his parents' home and shouted for James in his two-way mirror. They'd met up, Sirius with a black eye, his school trunk, his broom, and an expression that was a strange and painful combination of bitter, defiant, and defeated and James with a pack of cigarettes, his Invisibility Cloak, and an illegal Portkey.

"Padfoot?" he'd said. "Let me see your eye-"

"I can do it," Sirius had said stubbornly. "We just have to get back to your place." There was no doubt in his voice that James would take him in, would very happily offer him a spare bedroom or-if they had lacked one, which the Potters did not-his own bed. It was this that made James seize Sirius in a gruff embrace. Sirius had been very still, but when they returned to the Potters' home he was polite to Mr. and Mrs. Potter, even talkative, and let Andrea Potter cook him dinner and took a bit of mead when Thomas Potter offered it to him and crashed in James's bed while the house-elf cleared one of the spare bedrooms.

Neither of them ended up sleeping much that night; Sirius hadn't explained what had happened, not exactly, but the pain was evident in the tightness of his voice and the half-sentences sprinkled throughout their otherwise mundane and trivial conversation. And James-

James had been his _friend_. James had been _good_ to him, better than Sirius's own family had been, better than _anyone_. He'd thought they were more than friends-that they were brothers. There were times when Sirius called Andrea "Mum" and Thomas "Dad." Sirius had had his own room-still did, in fact, though no one had been in it since Christmas as far as James knew-and he'd had surrogate parents and a surrogate brother and this was complete and utter _bollocks_.

James slammed his knuckles against the wall of one of the factories. The cigarette he'd forgotten was in his hand scorched his fingers and fell to the ground. He swore loudly.

The fact was that he missed Sirius, but more than that, he _hated_ him. Sirius had ruined everything, had taken the Marauders' biggest secret and greatest accomplishment and used it as a means to an awful end. James did not really think Sirius had wanted Snape dead; even in his anger, he understood that Sirius was rash and stupid and reckless but not inherently _evil_, despite his upbringing and actions.

But still, he had betrayed Remus and revealed their best-kept secret to their greatest enemy for a cheap lark when he was tipsy, without any sort of forethought about what it might do to Remus to kill someone. And even if Remus _didn't_ kill Snape, Sirius had to know that Snape was probably the worst possible person in the school to have knowing about Remus's condition.

It was just—if Sirius had denied it, James probably would have believed him. If he'd said Snape was lying, or even that Remus was, James would have sided with him in a heartbeat no matter the evidence to the contrary. He'd have told Moony off for lying, tricked Snape into drinking a hair-loss potion, and gone on with his life none the wiser. In fact, he was still sort of waiting for an owl from Dumbledore or Remus telling him it had all been a mistake, that Sirius had in fact done absolutely nothing wrong and that the entire thing had been a huge misunderstanding. There was something in him that did not want to believe that Sirius, _his_ Sirius, would do something so mind-numbingly stupid, so objectively terrible...

James swore again, banged his knuckles against the wall again. He was unbelievably angry, and it was largely an unwarranted anger. He didn't know why he'd come here, to this forgotten spot between two factories-one of which he was fairly certain was shut down, and the other of which he was fairly certain was pumping toxic materials into the ground.

But here he was, bits of charred tobacco in one hand and his stupid bleeding badge in the other.

He did not know why Dumbledore had made him Head Boy. It was clear that it could not be Remus, because Remus was a werewolf who had almost killed someone a few months before and Dumbledore was a good man, a tolerant man, but not a stupid one. It could not be Snape, because Snape was very clearly obsessed with the Dark Arts. It could not be Rob Walcott, because Rob Walcott was an idiot. It should-and this he thought ruefully, almost disgustedly-be Caradoc Dearborn, with his ridiculous pompadour hair and annoying girlfriend and perfectly _fair_ adherence to the rules.

He'd only gotten his badge half an hour previously, but already he hated it. His dad had already been off to work when his letter had arrived, and James had hastily shoved the badge in the pocket of his robes and told his mum he was off to see Remus and ridden his old bike to this spot. He had no doubt that Dumbledore had only given it to him in the hopes that he could control his would-be murderer best friend, apparently having overlooked the fact that James and Sirius were no longer best friends.

James sighed and wiped his hand on his jeans before pulling out another cigarette. It wouldn't be so bad, he supposed...he could choose Hogsmeade weekends, at least, and he'd probably be allowed free rein over the castle, which at least meant fewer evenings wasted in detention. It also meant he'd know all the passwords for all the houses' towers and all the teachers' offices, though that would just take all the fun out of figuring them out on his own.

Still, he thought, perhaps spending less time guessing random sweets to get into Dumbledore's office or jinxing a Hufflepuff to get a password out of him would allow for more time spent on more elaborate pranks.

It wasn't _awful_, this badge-sure, it was sort of embarrassing and he was sure Dumbledore had only given it to him to try and get him under control, but if anything, it could only make his friends' debauchery easier. Perhaps he'd even be able to train a few new Marauders to take over after he left school...

The Yango tasted foul in his mouth, and James remembered how much he hated self-lighting cigarettes and thought he must have grabbed his father's pack by mistake. His father, undoubtedly, was sitting at his desk right now sucking on the end of an unlit cigarette and wondering why it wasn't lighting itself. The image made him laugh, and the smile felt strangely unfamiliar on his face.

James climbed onto his bike, ready to ride home. It was sort of awful out, the air heavy with unfallen rain and the sun hiding behind foreboding storm clouds. There was no real breeze in the air, but as James rode down a hill at a speed that would have been impossible on a normal Muggle bike he barely noticed.

When he returned home, his mother would be shocked and delighted, his father shocked but proud, and they would offer to buy him a new broom or owl. Remus would be shocked but try to hide it, and Peter would claim he'd known it'd be James all along.

But for now, James was flying down hills through England alone on a magically modified bicycle, and there was something spectacular about that.

* * *

"Frank Stapleton is _class_," Remus was saying. "Pure and utter _class_. This Supermac-Stapleton pairup is going to be legen-bleeding-_dary_."

Peter had been dragged to yet another sporting event that afternoon, though this time it was a Saturday at Highbury to watch Arsenal play Swansea in the first league match of the season. Football, Peter had to admit, was at least a little more interesting than the Quidditch match they'd just been to with James, though the Muggles did look a bit silly running around chasing a black and white ball.

They were now at a Muggle pub, sipping lager and eating chips, and Remus was recounting the match play-by-play.

"When Stapleton knocked that long ball to MacDonald, it _should have been a goal_!" Remus said. "Swansea were clever, I've never seen the offside trap work so well..."

"Hope he doesn't change clubs," Peter said, peering into his cup as if he might find something interesting swimming around in it.

"He won't," Remus said, all confidence. "United've already rejected him and regretted it..."

"Hey, Remus," Peter said, not looking at him. "Do you think-is James all right?'

Remus met his eyes, sighing. "Course he's not. I've never seen him act like such a wildly disproportionate combination of neurotic and angry before, not even when we lost at Quidditch and Lily Evans called him as bad as Snape in the same week."

Peter snorted, but sobered quickly. "What are we going to do about it?"

"I dunno...it's obviously about Sirius, but I can't-I mean, it's never going to be like it was, and there's nothing I can do about that..."

"That's not-no, Remus, that's not what I meant. This isn't your fault."

Remus looked glumly at his chips. "I know, but that doesn't make it any better."

"It gives you the power, though," Peter (who, it must be noted, paid a great deal of attention to the power dynamics of their group of friends and often subconsciously aligned himself with the person who had the most power in the group-thus his current post-football match meal with Remus despite James's invitation to his parents' summer home) said. "If you decide to forgive Sirius, James has to, too."

"What?"

"It's all up to you. You were the person who was wronged, so whatever happens, it has to be your choice."

Remus looked at him thoughtfully. "I don't know," he said slowly. "I don't think James would forgive Sirius just because I did. And I still don't think I can ever forgive him..."

Peter sighed. "I know," he said. "But-it's worth considering, isn't it?"

Remus looked back down at his plate and didn't respond.

* * *

Mary MacDonald did not speak Spanish.

This was rapidly becoming a problem, as she and her family were on holiday in Spain and she was bored out of her mind. Barcelona was beautiful, Madrid regal, but she hadn't had a conversation with a wizard since she'd left Britain and had taken to bewitching things in her hotel room to kill time.

Now, she was lounging on a beach in Andalucía, reading the latest copy of _Witch Weekly_ and sipping sangria purely because she could as her parents visited historical museums. Mary MacDonald was not one for historical museums. Mary MacDonald was one for beaches and sangria.

The sounds of the beach were characteristically relaxing, though presently Mary heard someone calling her name. She thought she must be imagining it-she knew exactly two people in the entire country, and they were far from the beach, and "MacDonald" was hardly a common Spanish name. She ignored it and turned to a quiz: "Amortentia or Avada Kedavra?"

"Why're you reading that rubbish, Mac?"

Mary turned, surprised. "Marlene!"

Marlene O'Connell smiled lazily at her through a sunburn and ridiculously freckled skin. "What are you doing in this corner of Europe?"

"I'm on holiday with my family...you?"

"I'm visiting a cousin."

"Surely there's no Spanish blood in the O'Connell clan."

"Nah, my cousin married a Spanish footballer. Bit of a lark, really, when he realized she could do magic, but there you are." Marlene reached for Mary's drink. "Where's the bar?"

"No way they'll serve you. What are you-fourteen?"

"_Six_teen, as you well know, MacDonald. And we're at the Costa del Sol, not Pyongyang."

"Sixteen's still illegal."

"So's seventeen. Anyway, it's not like this stuff is strong." She drank deeply from the cup. "What's the alcohol content-like four percent?"

"At least ten. Still illegal."

"Well, I'm a good looking Irish girl in a bikini, so I'm sure they'll serve me just fine."

"Yeah, probably," Mary agreed, having experienced this first hand. "What are you up to tonight? My parents want to go to dinner, but I'm terribly sick of tapa bars..."

"There's this club my cousin suggested in Madrid. I've been meaning to go, but she's married and boring now, so..."

"That sounds terrific," Mary said. "Except we're about a ten hour train ride from Madrid."

Marlene rolled her eyes. "There's this thing I've been learning for a few years, Mac...it's really strange, lets you do all these things, like create chairs from thin air...or put out fires with a wooden stick..."

"Shut up, O'Connell, you can't Apparate yet."

"No, but _you_ can Side-Along me. Or my cousin'll do it."

"Right," Mary said. "I forgot that was something I had the ability and legal right to do."

"You _do_ have your Apparition license, don't you?"

"Course I do," Mary said, though she was sure she'd left it at home. But her Spanish was shoddy at best, and she _did_ miss hanging out with people who weren't her parents, even if Marlene was hardly her friend, and so when she returned to her hotel not too long after, she immediately started shifting through her clothes to see if she'd brought anything suitable.

"Are you sure this is the place?" Mary asked, frowning at the dark building Marlene was insisting they enter.

"Yeah, they have to hide their magic really well because the Spanish are so Catholic," Marlene said, examining the door. "Apparently you have to be a wizard to find the knob to this door... Oh, there it is."

The door revealed only an empty room. "What's going on, O'Connell?" Mary asked, frowning.

"Just come inside, I'm sure this is it..."

Marlene grabbed Mary's hand and pulled her through the doorway. There was a strange tugging sensation behind Mary's navel, and suddenly the room was filled with noise and bodies.

"What just happened?"

"I think there's some sort of...Portkey, maybe? The...the floor tiles?"

"Yeah, must be..."

Mary moved further into the room, which looked surprisingly sleek and trendy. There was a bar at the far side of the room, surrounded by stools, but the rest of the room was full of people dancing, except for a corner of the room that was taken up by a wizard tinkering with what looked like a wireless on a table.

"Let's get drinks," Marlene said, pulling Mary to the bar. "Dos tazas de sangria, por favor," she said to the bartender, who delivered promptly.

"You speak Spanish?"

"Only enough to order things in restaurants and bars," Marlene replied, handing Mary her drink and sitting down at the far end of the bar.

It wasn't long before two very good looking Spanish wizards looked over at them.

"Ooh, look, they're cute," Marlene whispered, waving them over.

"Aren't you dating Theo McKinnon?"

"Only sort of-we're not exactly exclusive. We just hang out when we miss each other and shag when we're bored."

Mary was about to dispute this when the two men reached them.

"Hola," one greeted them. "Me llamo Xabier. ¿Cómo te llamas?"

"Er-lo siento," Mary said, in her very best Spanish. "No hablos español." She gestured to herself and Marlene.

The two blokes laughed. "Hogwarts?" said the second, the one who hadn't introduced himself. "We are from Universidad de Madrid, Colegio de Mágico."

"Your Spanish is not so good," Xabier said, smiling rather dashingly at Mary. "You must improve."

"What's she got to fix?" Marlene asked, though she was looking at the second wizard.

"Well, you do not pronounce the 'h' in 'hablos,'" Xabier said.

"'Hablos' is also not a word," the second Spaniard said.

"What're you called, then?" Marlene asked.

"I'm Rafael," Rafael said, smiling as well.

Marlene looked at Mary. "Well, Mac," she said. "I believe we've just scored ourselves two lovely Spaniards."

In the end, Rafael-whose English turned out to be fairly limited to correcting people's Spanish-flirted mainly with Marlene and Xabier mainly with Mary; there was something genuine about him, something surprisingly sweet even though it was clear he was only looking for a one-night stand.

"Where are you from?" Mary asked, and unlike the Hogwarts boys she'd grown used to, Xabier did not take the opportunity to either gaze at her chest or make a sexual crack.

"I'm from Bilbao," Xabier said. "It is in the north, close to France."

"Ah, yeah, one of my mates is a big fan of your Quidditch team. QC Bilbao, right?"

Xabier smiled. "Yes, that is one...but I'm a fan of Bilbao's derby rivals, Sociedad Vasco de Quidditch."

"I know all about derbies...I'm a Muggle-born from Glasgow, you see."

Xabier laughed. "Football?"

"Yeah, it's a bit of a big deal for us."

"For us too," Xabier said, and Mary thought he was absolutely lovely, all wide smile and perfect dark hair, surprisingly pale beard.

Thus, it was somewhat disappointing when what seemed like moments but was probably at least an hour later, Rafael poked Xabier in the ribs.

"Oye, Xabi," Rafael said, and that was all Mary understood before the conversation switched to rapid Spanish. Xabier nodded at Rafael, clapped him on the back, and grinned.

"Well, it's been fun," Mary said, unaware that she'd been hoping for more until her realization that there wouldn't be any. "Thanks for wasting your evening talking to me."

"It has not been a waste," Xabier said. "I'm enjoying this. You're funny and very beautiful."

"But aren't you and Rafael leaving?"

"Oh, no..." Xabier laughed a little. "Rafa is taking your friend home. He was telling me goodbye."

"Ah...funny, my friend doesn't seem to find it necessary to tell me anything."

"Maybe she thinks it was obvious," Xabier said, then looked Mary up and down in a way that made her shiver. "Do you want to dance?"

They _did_ dance, then, in a way that made the inside of Mary's stomach swoop, and at the end of the evening the two of them-drenched in sangria and whatever other cocktails they'd starting ordering once they'd gotten bored, including some magical one that tasted like pomegranates and made Mary's mouth tingle and which Xabier said (very suggestively) was his favorite-finally left the bar. The tiles in front of the door once again transported them back to the nondescript building in Madrid.

"Is that a Portkey?" Mary asked.

"Who cares?"

Up until that point, the most contact they had exchanged had been quick kisses and flirty touches, but now Xabier pressed his palms against Mary's shoulders, his fingers curling over them and digging a little bit into her upper back. There was a split second where his gaze met hers, and then his eyes dropped to her mouth and suddenly he had her pressed up against the wall of the building.

"Okay?" he breathed, and Mary nodded until his mouth dropped to hers and stopped the up-and-down movements of her head.

It was the best kiss Mary had ever had, and over the years she'd had quite a few. One of Xabier's hands moved down to her waist, the other up behind her head, presumably so it would stop banging against the cement wall behind it. Mary's own hands were knotted in Xabier's lovely hair, keeping his head close even with his mouth pulled away.

"I live near," he said.

"My parents will worry."

"Send them an owl."

"They're Muggles."

"They don't know how to use owls?"

"They do, but they're-I don't know, they'll still be worried. They're strict Catholics."

A look of understanding dawned upon Xabier. "You do not want to come home with me."

But she _did_, it was just-her parents would worry and undoubtedly be fairly angry with her once she finally turned up. And yet-here was Xabier, with his big, soft eyes and a smile like a flash of light across his lightly bearded face.

And, really, she was of age, and basically an adult, and her mother had been picking fights with her over much less and Mary was properly fed up with her by now...and how many times was she going to be in Spain again?

"Is it close enough to walk?" she asked, and Xabier grinned.

* * *

**A/N:** I understand that this is a bit incongruous, but I promise everything will make sense once everyone is back at Hogwarts. A quick note on pronunciation: "Mead" rhymes with "head" and is therefore pronounced "Med." There is many an OC to come, as well as characters whom I didn't invent but who have little to no backstory in the books and are therefore basically OCs with borrowed names. If you have any questions about who specific characters are in the canon or how to pronounce something, please don't hesitate to ask! In fact, don't hesitate to leave a review of any sort :) Many thanks to my lovely beta, Dana.


	4. Subversion, Extortion, and a Scarf

**Subversion, Extortion, and a Very Particular Scarf  
or, How Lily Evans Learned Sirius Black was a Decent Bloke**

To some extent, this is the love story of James Potter and Lily Evans, the fruit of which eventually saved the Wizarding World. But this is also the story of how four boys whose lives were so intertwined that when their relationships with one another fell apart, their lives were forever broken: one dead, one wrongly jailed, one in hiding, and one sitting in a dark, secluded corner of a wizarding hospital once a month to transform into the monster that only his best friends ever really came close to understanding.

This schism began in their sixth year, though it wasn't until after school that the cracks that formed when one of them almost ruined everything started to chip away at their otherwise unified whole. But more on that later, and on to the matter at hand:

Sirius Black missed Remus Lupin.

It was a peculiar kind of missing someone, because he knew it was his fault he hadn't seen Remus since the end of the school year, and he knew he couldn't really complain if Remus never spoke to him again, but the truths of emotion often directly conflict with the facts of life, and now, even though he knew he had no right to and knew he ought not even ask Remus for so much as a quill let alone his forgiveness, Sirius Black missed Remus Lupin.

It was with this thought in his head that Sirius kicked out the Muggle he'd taken home the night before (a bloke with brown hair and soft eyes this time, though Sirius had paid very little attention to his eyes), took a shower, dressed himself in Muggle-friendly clothing, combed his hair, tucked his wand into his pocket, and Apparated to an Apparition point just inside Diagon Alley. He was not looking for Remus specifically-or at least, this was what he told himself-but it was a clear afternoon halfway through the lunar month and it seemed the type of day one should spent outdoors.

Sirius felt like he'd checked nearly every shop-looking, very specifically, for a certain type of scarf, a type of scarf that it was surprisingly difficult to find. Hogwarts letters had gone out not too long ago, and so Sirius thought the shops in Wizarding London would be well-stocked with scarves of every sort, and he was sure to find this particular scarf somewhere, perhaps at Madam Malkin's or at Quality Quidditch Supplies even though it wasn't really a Quidditch-playing type of scarf. There were trick scarves at Gambol and Japes and old scarves at the junkshop and lovely silk scarves at Twilfitt and Tattings, but the scarf he was looking for wasn't necessarily very high-end.

It wasn't long before he reached the alleyway that would take one from Diagon to Knockturn Alley, and it was very resignedly that he turned into it, because the scarf, which most certainly did not have a name that started with an L and ended with an N, appeared to be absolutely nowhere, and he was certain he'd seen similar ones during one of his many trips to Knockturn Alley in the past.

Sirius pulled out a Yango Light and sucked on the end. The other end ignited. There was something beautifully simple about Yangos: you put them in your mouth, and they did what you wanted them to do. A bit like the bloke from the night before. Sirius took another drag.

Knockturn Alley seemed a shade darker than Diagon Alley, as if there were a cloud that covered only that part of London, and as Sirius exhaled a lungful of smoke he thought perhaps, per_haps_, there was a tiny, tiny chance that the scarf he was searching for was around here somewhere.

He checked Borgin and Burkes first, mainly because he had once seen the scarf there when he'd been purchasing Dark objects and attempting to figure out the magic behind them with the Marauders. It struck him now that there had probably not been much need for such purchases; there were probably enough similar Dark objects in the drawing room at his mum's house that he could very easily have stolen.

But the scarf was nowhere to be found in Borgin and Burkes, though the shopkeeper leered at him at him when he entered.

"Mr. Black," he said, in a disturbingly oily voice. Sirius wondered vaguely if the shopkeep thought he was a different Black or had simply remembered him from transactions past. "How … pleasant of you to visit."

"I'm not buying anything today, I'm afraid," Sirius said. "Just having a look around. … Not unless-I don't suppose you've got any scarves?"

The shopkeeper looked at him, bewildered, but shook his head. Sirius sighed.

"Right. I'll see myself out." But he found himself wanting to stay; the company of a wizard, _any_ wizard, as it turned out, was apparently enough for him to want to stick around with the creepy shopkeeper, and Sirius stood near a rack of skulls and shrunken heads, frowning at them.

"Those are only five Galleons a piece," the shopkeeper said. "Each of them carries a specific curse."

"Er … yeah, thanks. I see the tags." And it was this unnerving Dark magic that-when faced alone-caused Sirius to give up on his search for the scarf.

Sighing, he walked out of the shop, deciding he'd go and grab a quick dinner and perhaps a drink before heading back to his flat. He wasn't much in the mood to flirt. The scarf was nowhere to be found, not in Diagon Alley nor, apparently, in Knockturn Alley, and Sirius was tired and already craving an alcoholic beverage. The Yango smoke tasted stale in his mouth, and he dug around for one of the cigarettes he'd rolled himself, but his Muggle clothing had small pockets and he'd only managed to fit the pack of Yangos when he'd left his flat that morning. He took one of them out anyway, inhaling and feeling the familiar pleasure as the tip ignited without his having to put any effort in before spinning around, back toward Diagon Alley in preparation to Apparate-and slamming head first into Lily Evans.

* * *

It was raining, and London was beautiful. Alice half-wanted to wander away from all her friends and spend the day shopping in Muggle boutiques or drinking complicated cocktails in bars with lots of windows.

But she had been the one complaining about missing her friends, and so now she felt fortunate to have them all with her-or, at least, Lily and Caradoc, though they'd soon head over to the Leaky Cauldron to meet up with Mead and Mary, who had recently returned from Spain.

Thus, the beauty of a typically rainy London was to be ignored, or at least appreciated to a lesser extent, as Lily dragged them to the Apothecary.

"I've just got to get a few more potion ingredients," she said, scanning a bit of parchment in her hand.

Alice and Caradoc followed Lily into the shop, though they hung back as she flitted about picking out all the ingredients she wanted.

"Blimey, how many times has she been here?" Caradoc asked, looking significantly impressed. "She's hardly even glancing at what she's buying."

"I think she might live here during the hols," Alice responded, similarly impressed. Lily was back momentarily with several bags full of what could only be described as "stuff."

"I've got yours, too," she said, handing Doc one of the bags. "You're welcome."

"Thanks, Lils," Doc said, wrapping an arm around her as they exited the shop. "That was brilliant, that was … you should join some sort of league."

"What, a potions supply race?" Lily said, snorting. "That's ridiculous …"

"Is that all you need, Lily?"

"I need a few more things, but I think they'll be at Knockturn Alley, and I sort of wanted to stop by that one rare book store, see if they've got any Hemingway …"

"Why d'you want to read Hemingway? He was a bit of an alcoholic prick if you ask me," Caradoc said.

"I like Hemingway."

"But he's not exactly skilled, is he? Just a whole load of short sentences."

"He was a genius," Lily said coolly.

"Not _really_, though."

"Would you two _stop_?" Alice snapped. "Honestly, you're like a couple of-"

She stopped, having just caught sight of a group of Slytherins she sort of recognized looking their way. She thought they might have already left Hogwarts; one of them waved over at them.

"All right, Kennedy? Dearborn?" he said. "Did you read the _Prophet_ this morning? Not going to be so fun hanging out with a Mudblood like Evans now-"

"_What_ did you call her?" Caradoc snarled, his voice suddenly low, his wand out and pointed at the older man.

"What d'you mean about the _Prophet_?" Lily said sharply.

"Did you just _address_ me, Mudblood?" The wizard pointed his wand at her, and it was this movement along with the sneer in his voice at his address of Lily that reminded Alice of who he was: Lucius Malfoy, his hair slicked back and white, white blond. She recognized a few of the wizards with him, too: There was one of the Lestrange brothers, someone she thought might be a Black, Gary Crabbe …

And, of course, because apparently some vindictive and sadistic god out there was bored and cruel and wanted to see some sort of a confrontation, hanging back, almost disappearing into the shadows, stood Severus Snape.

"Hello, Snape," Alice said, because calling attention to him would destroy whatever farce he was attempting right now.

Lily's head snapped up at his name. Alice felt suddenly awful; Lily looked terribly, terribly betrayed, the fingers of her left hand tapping at her hip rapidly as her right hand held her wand at her side.

"Ah, but you know Severus," Malfoy said. "He was-correct me if I'm wrong-the Mudblood's best friend."

"Stop calling her that!" Alice snarled, slashing in the air with her wand. Malfoy staggered back as the force of Alice's spell hit.

"Is that all you've got, Kennedy?" Malfoy taunted. He pointed his wand at her. "I'll show you how it's done-"

"She's a pure-blood, Lucius," the Lestrange said quietly, and Malfoy frowned.

"Very well. The Mudblood it is. What spell shall we sample on you today, Evans?"

"Don't touch her," Caradoc said, pushing Lily behind him, and Alice suddenly felt a rush of respect for him.

"Relax," Lily said. "No one's going to do anything. We're in the middle of Diagon Alley in the middle of the day."

Malfoy seemed to consider this, and put his wand away. "Right you are, Evans … but not to worry. You'll get what's coming to you, and I'd say sooner rather than later."

"What are you talking about?" Lily said. "What's in the _Prophet_?"

But Lucius and his mates only smiled secretively and slinked away as quietly as they'd come.

"What were they talking about? I _read_ the _Prophet_ this morning-"

"Are you all right?" Alice asked, and Doc seized Lily by the shoulders, examining her for harm.

"Of course I am," Lily said. "You were with me, you saw-no one touched me."

Doc stared at her. "Don't you … care? At all?"

"About what?"

"They called you a-a-"

"What, a Mudblood? Doc, my _best mate_ called me a Mudblood in front of the entire school. I know people hate me for being what I am. I've just got to be _better_ than they are."

Lily had stowed her wand away again and was now digging around in her pocket, undoubtedly for a cigarette. Her hand was shaking a little as she made to light one, Alice noticed, but her first exhale was steadily directed away from Doc's face.

"Now, I've got to get a few more potion supplies," she said. "There isn't a place for them in Diagon Alley, so I've got to head over to Knockturn …"

"D'you want us to come with you?" Alice said. "Only, Mead's waiting at the Leaky Cauldron and we're already late …"

"No, no, you two go ahead," Lily said. "I can manage."

"Are you sure you're all right?" Doc said. "I can come and Alice can go ahead-"

"Course I am," Lily said, smiling grimly. "I _can_ do magic, you know …"

Alice was amazed at how nonchalantly Lily was taking Malfoy's words and, in fact, felt a little uncomfortable at letting Lily disappear into Knockturn Alley on her own, but they _were_ late and Lily _did_ seem fairly at ease …

"Aren't you worried you'll see Malfoy again?" Alice asked.

"I can take care of myself," Lily said, and there was an edge to her voice.

Caradoc placed his hand on Alice's back. "We'll just go ahead, then."

"Yeah, I think you'd better." Lily's voice was cold now, and she was already looking away from them.

"D'you want a cigarette?" Caradoc asked Alice as they walked to the Leaky Cauldron.

"I don't smoke," she replied.

"Yeah, me neither," Doc said, putting a Yango in his mouth and inhaling. "I've quit."

"Er … right. Listen, how's your internship been going?"

"Oh, it's spectacular, really … being around all the greatest Dark wizard catchers is really enlightening. Best experience of my life, really."

"I'm jealous. Wish my brother worked in the D.M.L.E."

"Yeah, well, I s'pose I did get lucky. You're set on being an Auror then?"

"Oh, yeah, dead set … nothing I've ever wanted to do more."

"It's not a Frank thing?"

"Of course not! Frank's great, really, and I love him, but we ended up together because we had similar goals, not the other way round."

"I think you'd make a good Auror," Doc said. "I mean, you're clever … and quite good at magic." Doc sounded awkward, like he didn't know how to interact with her, and indeed he didn't: though they had been friends through Mead for years, Doc and Alice had rarely had a conversation without being surrounded by other mutual friends. A one-on-one conversation this long was fairly unprecedented.

"Here we are," Alice said, pushing open the door of the Leaky Cauldron.

They spotted Dorcas fairly quickly, as her long neck and shock of curly dark hair stood out over the back of her chair.

But Dorcas was not alone; across from her sat a beaming, freckled, and warmly familiar Mary MacDonald.

"Mary!" Alice said as Doc slid into the seat next to Dorcas. "How have you _been_? How was Spain? Did you meet any boys?"

Mary beamed at her. "Spain was absolutely fantastic! Sunny and beautiful! How was England?"

"Boring," Alice replied, sitting down in the chair next to her. "It rained and everyone had a very busy and interesting life except for me."

"Sounds relaxing," Mary said. "Where's Lily? I thought she'd be with you two …"

"She had to duck into Knockturn Alley."

"You let her go alone?" Mead said, looking accusingly at Doc.

"She's a big girl, she can take care of herself, honestly, Mead," Caradoc said, though he looked a little uncomfortable.

"Can I bum a cig, then, Doc?" Mead asked.

"I've quit," Doc said, pulling out his Yangos anyway.

"Don't smoke at the table," Alice said. "That's _disgusting_."

"Right, sorry," Mead said. "Well-shall we order? Or should we wait for Lily?"

"Oi, is that James Potter and Peter Pettigrew?" Mary asked, peering toward the bar. She waved them over.

"Hello, all," James said, sauntering over and settling down next to Alice.

"Well, well, well," Caradoc said. "Looks like we've been graced by one half of the Marauders …"

"Two thirds," James corrected, smiling charmingly at him. "The other is busy with a bird …"

"A _Muggle_ bird," Peter added.

"I'd like to see that," Doc said, snorting a little. "Can't imagine Lupin with any bird at all."

Alice laughed, sipping at the glass of water set in front of her. Her earlier apprehension all but gone, she settled into her seat and thought-a little sadly-that the only person missing from their group that evening would be Frank.

* * *

It was still disconcerting.

Not so much being called a Mudblood-that had happened before, happened all the time. There would always be people like Lucius Malfoy, people who thought she was scum just for existing. She'd accepted that part of the Wizarding World and sought to change it, but for now she knew that the best way to deal with people who would have her hate herself was to be better than they were. And she _was_. She was clever and good at magic and Slughorn said she was the best potion-maker he'd ever seen, and she'd been invited to every Slug Club meeting since her first year, in spite of the filthy looks Malfoy and those like him had shot her across the room every time.

It was seeing him. Sev. With all of his new mates-his _real_ mates, apparently. Standing by while his _friends_, his _real_ friends, insulted her, _threatened_ her.

Well, it wasn't like this was unusual for Severus, as there had been plenty of times before when his mates had insulted her at Hogwarts and he'd only stood by, unable to defend her lest he risk revealing himself as her friend to them. She still didn't know why she'd forgiven him so loyally, so stupidly, time and time again …

And, really, she _did_ feel stupid for letting him off the hook so many times … all through first year, he'd refused to be seen with her at all after all his mates had made fun of them, and they'd fought over that plenty of times.

And then there'd been second year, after a summer that she and Severus had spent making potions in his attic while his parents fought loudly down below them, potions that would spawn flowers or turn your skin green. And all through second year, Lily and Sev had been mates, proper mates … his Slytherin friends hadn't thought any less of him, and they'd spent plenty of time studying together at the library or on the grounds when it was nice enough out.

Come third year, they'd even gone on a few Hogsmeade trips together, though Lily had primarily gone with her roommates, growing ever closer to them as Sev explored the village alone or with the increasingly surly Slytherin gang he hung around now.

It was not until fifth year when, consumed by hatred of the Marauders and desperation to fit in with the Slytherins, Snape had finally spit out the insult that would prove to be the turning point in their friendship. Sure, they had sort of made up after, but they'd never had the same dynamic, never spoken to one another with the same ease … and he'd never let himself be seen with her again after that.

The thing was, he'd been her best friend, her _very_ best friend. She'd been able to reveal things to him she hadn't before, not to anyone … not even to Mary. He, after all, was the one who knew the fullest extent of her relationship with her sister, even though he dismissed her. He was the one she'd told about David Weston, though she'd learned from that mistake and gone on to keep any new romantic involvement as far out of her conversations with Severus as possible.

It was difficult not to be friends with Sev anymore. That was the only reason she'd forgiven him-well, that and the fact that she was sort of terrified he'd get in with the wrong crowd, end up in Azkaban with other practitioners of Dark magic.

Lily sighed and dropped her cigarette butt on the ground, stamping it out with her foot before remembering she wasn't in Muggle London and could probably just have vanished it. She dug around for another cigarette. Her hands, somewhat unsurprisingly, were shaking, and it took an age to get her next cigarette lit because she couldn't get the flame centered over its end.

She had never been to Knockturn Alley alone, though she'd been there with her mates for potion supplies the summer before and at least a few times with Severus over the years. Now, she stood at the entryway, looking around a little skeptically as she scanned the shops for one that would sell the unicorn hearts and mermaid tongues Slughorn had listed as mandatory potion supplies for the upcoming term. She wondered what type of a shop would sell things from people who had hunted unicorns for their hearts, and, shuddering, decided not think any further about it.

She had decided what direction to head in and, indeed, had started walking that way when who should slam right into her but Sirius Black himself.

"Black," she said, surprised.

"Evans," he said, equally surprised.

"What are you up to?"

"I was looking for a particular scarf," Sirius said, his voice sounding very distant. "You?"

"I've got to find some potion supplies …"

"Oh, yeah, that list is ridiculous, not sure what Slughorn's thinking."

"I think it sounds exciting."

"Yeah, you would … listen, Evans, Knockturn Alley's not exactly … I mean, you shouldn't be here alone."

"I can take care of myself," Lily said again, though somewhat less coldly this time.

"Yeah, well … I need those supplies, too."

Lily glared at him; she _could_ take care of herself, but at least Sirius was sort of pretending he wasn't just trying to protect her from things she could protect herself from.

It had taken her a split second to register that it was actually Sirius when she'd first seen him. It was strange, she thought, how different he looked now: he was taller and thinner, almost gaunt, and without his usual glint of mischief or confident smile he looked much less handsome. He was still sort of beautiful, of course, but looked so much less alive-like a statue, perhaps, or a skeleton. He also, Lily noted, smelled a bit like stale alcohol and old cigarette smoke, though not strongly enough for it to be unpleasant, and she did not shrug away when he threw an arm around her shoulder.

Everyone knew about the Marauders' feud, but no one really seemed to know what it was about. All Lily knew was that they had all been friends one day, and then suddenly Sirius had stopped showing up to meals and was off the Quidditch team and had detention all the time. She hadn't really been paying attention at the time, as it had been during a particularly low point in her friendship with Severus, eventually culminating in the biggest fight they'd ever had followed by what was probably the permanent end of that friendship.

In any case, Sirius was clearly on the worse end of the fight; when she'd seen James a few weeks earlier, he'd looked tired but otherwise clean and healthy. Sirius, however, was pale and a little sickly looking, like he hadn't been outside during the day much.

"You don't look very happy," Sirius said as they perused some of the outdoor markets.

"It's been a long day."

"Family issues?"

Lily thought about Petunia and said, "Sort of."

"Well, what is it? What's bothering you?"

There was a strange combination of nonchalant apathy and interest in his voice, which was probably what convinced Lily to spill everything about Petunia.

"And she keeps trying to convince him I'm a freak, even though I had a perfectly thought out story about going to some private Muggle college!" she finished some time later, voice filled with indignation.

Sirius laughed a little, squeezing her shoulder. "Sounds like you've had a fun summer."

"Oh, I'm overdramatizing a bit. It's been all right. Petunia's been awful, but otherwise it's been pretty standard."

"Why are you so upset about her? Seems like a bit of a prig, doesn't she?"

"Well, yeah, but if I ever needed a new kidney or something, they'd go to her first."

"Hmm," Sirius said, looking up at the sky as Lily fished for a cigarette. She didn't like talking about Petunia, and it was strange to be walking down the street with an eager-to-listen Sirius Black.

"What about you? You don't exactly look like you've been having the time of your life."

Sirius shrugged. "I've got a nice flat fairly close by … enough money to live off …"

"You don't live with your parents?"

Sirius snorted. "Course not. I barely spent any time with them the first few summers at Hogwarts, and then after fifth year the Potters took me in. Course, James isn't exactly chuffed with me just now, so here we are …"

"So what've you been doing?" Lily asked. "Just wandering London looking for … scarves?"

"Nah, I've been searching for just the right muff for at least a month now."

"Disgusting."

"What? I'd just like a nice cylinder of fur to keep my hands warm in the winter."

"I think you're just lonely," Lily said.

"Course I'm not. I'm Sirius bleeding Black. Loneliness is for lesser wizards."

"Yeah, all right. Come to the pub with me, then," she said, turning over a few salamander livers in her fingers. "How much per pound?" she asked the shopkeep.

"Ten sickles," the shopkeep called back.

"That's ridiculous," Sirius said. "She'll take two pounds for five sickles each."

"_That's_ ridiculous," Lily said.

"Seven a pound, and that's final," the shopkeep said, and Sirius turned to Lily triumphantly.

"Pay up, Evans."

"I only need the one pound, Black."

"Well, I need one too, so we'll just have to share."

Lily rolled her eyes but handed over the silver. "So anyway. A few of us are meeting up at the Leaky Cauldron in a bit, you should come along."

"I dunno, Evans," Sirius said. "I'm not really mates with your mates …"

"Shut up, you've known them for years."

"Will Alex Moore be there?"

"Probably not."

"Hmm. Dunno if I want to be seen with you nerdy lot without Moore there."

"Oh, shut up," Lily said. "It'll be fun. Maybe some nice bird will take you home and let you try out her muff."

"That's _filthy_, Evans …"

"I have my moments."

* * *

"I absolutely can't believe you're Head Boy," Mary MacDonald was saying. "There's absolutely no way."

"Look at my badge!" James said, pulling it out of the pocket of his robes. He'd taken to carrying it around and playing with it absently when he was bored. It was solid and round and just the right weight for someone to twirl in his fingers.

Dorcas Meadowes leaned over the table and took the badge, examining it closely as if for forgeries. "Doc, are you sure he hasn't stolen this from you?"

"Dunno … come to think of it, my Hogwarts letter _did_ look like someone had tampered with it …" And that was odd, Caradoc Dearborn cracking a joke. His hair was so bleeding _stupid_.

"Well, what've you got to say for yourself, Potter?"

"A Marauder never tells," James said, winking.

"Anyway, should be good to see the school fall apart under James's watchful eye," Peter said.

"It'll be chaos," Alice said. "People shagging in the corridors, people on their brooms outside classroom windows flashing everyone …"

"Everyone sneaking into Hogsmeade every evening …"

"There'll be an enforced Honeydukes and butterbeer tax people have to pay to find out the passwords to their towers."

"Come on, don't sell him short," Peter said, and James suddenly loved him for defending him. "It'd be Honeydukes and _firewhiskey_."

James no longer loved him.

"What are we talking about?"

James looked up and was struck by two very cacophonous emotions: one was a surge of hatred and betrayal at seeing Sirius Black, and the other was a surge of sudden butterflies at seeing Lily Evans in all her sunburned long-legged glory.

"Evans," he greeted her, completely ignoring Sirius.

"Evans, I should-" Sirius said, starting to back away from the table.

"Nonsense," Lily said. "Sit down."

Sirius looked at Lily for a long moment before sitting down as far away from James as possible. Lily herself slotted into place between Sirius and Peter.

"Lily," Alice said. "You'll never believe this-James is Head Boy!"

Lily snorted. "Bollocks. I'm not thick, Alice."

"Well, it's not Doc, and it's definitely not Snape …"

"It's not Remus," Peter said.

"And Dumbledore'd never pick Rob Walcott, he's a bit of a pillock, isn't he?"

"Oh, _no_," Lily said. "It's not true. I don't believe it."

James handed her the badge. "Well, believe it, Evans."

She examined the badge doubtfully. "What did you do to Dumbledore?"

"What?"

"Did you threaten him?"

"_What_?"

"Course not, Dumbledore'd never negotiate with an irresponsible prat like James."

"Well-did you bribe him, then?" Lily asked. "Because that's illegal, that is. Extortion, even. Politicians go to jail for that."

"Relax, Evans," James said, smirking. "I drugged him. He has no idea what a Head Boy even is anymore."

"You know, if you think about it, this appointment sort of makes sense," Mead said, and James relished the look of betrayal that flashed across Caradoc Dearborn's face. "People like James, and he's clever, and he's Quidditch captain … It's not that strange."

Caradoc opened his mouth, but-to James's surprise and relief-Lily cut him off.

"Where's Remus, then?"

"On a date with a _Muggle_," James said, grinning. "A Muggle _barkeep_. Mind, he'll be here later, so-" He stopped, giving Sirius what he hoped was a pointed look.

Sirius ignored him, or perhaps simply didn't notice James looking at him. "Have you lot eaten yet? I'm _starving_."

"We were waiting for Lily," Mead said.

"Someone call Tom," Mary said, waving him over.

Fifteen minutes later, the banter regarding James's Head Boyship and Remus's Muggle girlfriend had all but ended as everyone dug into their respective dinners. James was surprised to find that (despite having accidentally ordered the same meal as Sirius and, yeah, it was petty, but he didn't want to be eating the same meal as his traitor of a best friend) he, too, was starving.

"Have any of you read the _Prophet_ today?" Alice asked, stirring her soup and frowning slightly. "Only, we ran into Lucius Malfoy …"

"Alice," Lily said warningly.

"And he said," Alice continued loudly. "That there was something in the _Prophet_ this morning about Muggle-borns."

"Nah, I haven't seen anything," Sirius said. "Mind, I think I've forgotten how to read."

James thought that if he aimed it well, he could probably kick Sirius's kneecaps from his position at the table.

"You ran into Lucius Malfoy?" Mead said sharply. "And you let Lily go into Knockturn Alley on her own afterward?"

"I was _fine_, honestly, Mead, you'd think I was eleven …"

"_Doc_, how could you do that?"

"It's _fine_, I told him to go ahead-"

"Malfoy is _evil_, Lil-"

"Sev was with them, he wouldn't have let them do anything-"

"Really? Because I'm fairly certain he would have only helped them out."

"He absolutely would have, Lil," Mary said. "You _know_ he'd pick them over you."

Lily looked a little put out, but shrugged. "I can take care of myself," she said stubbornly, and Sirius threw an arm around her shoulder.

"In any case, I found her and protected her from the evil Slytherins," Sirius said, leaning back in his chair and pulling out a cigarette. "Oi, Tom!" he called. "Coffee!"

James wondered if Sirius knew what he was doing and decided that he probably did. Somewhat angrily, he pulled a cigarette out of his own pocket and lit it with his wand.

"Honestly," Alice said. "That's disgusting."

"'Fraid you're outnumbered this time, Kennedy," Sirius said, looking almost apologetically at James.

"Go to hell," James said. The hand wrapped around his mug of butterbeer was shaking, and he quickly put it in his lap. Sirius looked away.

"Er … hi," said a voice from behind James. Sirius's head shot up at it, and Peter bit down on his lip.

"Remus," James said, grinning despite himself. "How's _Emma_?"

Remus's eyes scanned the table. Frowning slightly, he dragged a chair over from another table and sat down beside James.

"Hello, all," Remus said, very pointedly not looking at Sirius, who did not seem able to tear his eyes away from him. "Emma's fine-terrific, really. She's-she's lovely."

"We've just eaten, Remus, but if you're hungry it'd be nice to stay back and catch up," Lily said, smiling.

"No, I've only just had dinner with Emma-er, she's my-"

"We know all about your Muggle," Caradoc said, winking. James suddenly wanted to punch him, too, and wondered when he'd gotten so violent.

"Er-right." Remus stole James's butterbeer and drank deeply from it. "Well-how've your days been?"

"Boring," Dorcas said.

"Fun," Mary said.

"Interesting," Lily said.

"Right, we don't need to hear all these one word responses," Sirius said. "Let's just sum it up, shall we? Everyone's day was decent and mostly uneventful."

"Well, ours wasn't," Caradoc said. "Malfoy basically called Lily a Mudblood in front of half of Wizarding London."

"Shut up, Doc," Lily hissed, glaring at him.

"_What_?" Sirius said. "Evans, why didn't you _tell me_ that?"

"It wasn't important," Lily said through her teeth. "Because I'm perfectly _fine_."

"And anyway, if she'd told you, you probably would've just sold her out to him anyway," James said.

Remus elbowed him. "_Prongs_," he hissed.

"James," Peter said, almost warningly.

"No, I'm not going to sit here and listen to him act like he's a decent bloke when he's-he's-"

"Shut up, James," Remus said warningly.

"When he's not!" James finished, slamming his cup down on the table with such force that some of Alice's remaining soup splashed out of its bowl.

"Fine," Sirius said, putting the remainder of his cigarette in the ashtray on the table. "You're right. I'm going." He dropped a few pieces of silver on the table. "Thanks for the human interaction, Lil," he said, squeezing Lily's shoulder as he stood. "I'll see you lot at school." He left the pub, looking dejected in a way that tugged at James's gut and made him want to punch him very very badly.

"What exactly is going on?" Lily said slowly.

"Don't pretend you don't know," James said. "_You_ brought him here-"

"I didn't know _you'd_ be here, and he looked awful-"

"He deserves it!" James shouted. The pub fell silent at this, and James lowered his voice. "Fine. _Fine_. I'm going out for some air."

"James …," Remus said slowly.

"Just _air_," James said. "I'll walk in the opposite direction and everything."

Peter made to stand, but James shook his head. "It's _fine_."

Naturally, however, he did not walk in the opposite direction of Sirius. He didn't know where Sirius had gone, but James was sure he'd find him eventually, skulking in some corner and smoking his stupid self-lighting cigs even though he knew very well the ones he rolled himself were a thousand times better.

And there he was, though he was not skulking; in fact, Sirius was walking toward what James was fairly certain was another pub, his back hunched and pace slow. James almost felt bad for him.

"Oi!" he shouted. "Black!"

Sirius turned and looked at him, and though it was already dark James could sort of see the awful expression on his face in the light of the streetlamps.

"Stay away from us," James snarled. "I thought that was understood."

"I didn't think you'd be there," Sirius said.

"Bullshit."

James's fist was twitching, his arm wanting very badly to swing at Sirius in an almost animalistic way.

"Listen, James …," Sirius said slowly, moving forward, and before he realized it James was moving forward, too.

There was a disgustingly, painfully familiar expression of bitterness and defiance and defeat on Sirius's face, which James hated seeing more than anything, and he could no longer handle it and so his fist flew out before he could consciously decide what to do, and Sirius looked stricken for a split second before he retaliated.

* * *

Sirius Black was a great deal of things: a fledgling alcoholic, a reasonably talented Beater, an avid smoker, a rather clever bloke, an Animagus, and a bit of a cocky prick.

But a sentimental twat was not one of them, and so when Lily Evans asked him to come to the Leaky Cauldron for a butterbeer with some friends, the first thought in his mind was most certainly not "Remus Lupin might be there," nor was it, "This'll egg James on," because all that was on in his mind was that there might be a tart or two at the pub who'd be up for a shag that evening, even if it was Lily Evans herself.

Had he been thinking those things, however, he would have been right on both accounts.

"What, Remus needs you to fight his battles for him?" he said. The punch had stung. His eye already felt sore.

"We both know he doesn't," James said. "I just thought _you'd_ prefer to fight a physical equal over a bloke who could tear you to bits-"

Sirius didn't know why he provoked James, exactly, because James had already hit him and after all this entire fight was _Sirius's_ fault. But provoke him he did: "Where is this physical equal, then? Cause all I'm seeing is a scrawny, speccy _wanker_ who only gets laid so birds can get him to shut up-"

"Oh, belt up, we all know you've got to Charm witches into your bed-"

"Please, as if I'm that desperate-mind you, might work with Evans, should try it out sometime-"

And that properly set James off, as Sirius had known it would, because he was a great deal of things but a reserved and rational bloke was not one of them and an expert on James Potter was.

James swung his fist again, but it was Sirius who shoved James so hard he fell over.

"How _dare_ you talk about Evans? How dare you follow her to Remus? You almost ruined his life, you ungrateful traitorous _prick_-"

"I KNOW!" Sirius shouted, hitting James in the face. One of the lenses in his glasses cracked, and James's hand shot up. "_I-bleeding-know-that_!"

"Then why do you think you're still entitled to our friendship?"

"I don't!"

"Then _why_-" James was speaking in between blows to the face, punctuating his words with punches to Sirius's ribs, "-_are you-hitting-me_?"

"You don't know what it's like!"

"Piss off, this is _not_ my fault!" James said, managing to roll over so that he was on top of Sirius instead of the other way around, his glasses so misshapen now that they dangled off one ear. He looked sort of ridiculous, and Sirius wished-

But James did not stop hitting him, and it did not matter what Sirius wished.

"You don't understand what it's like to be me!"

"Oh, right, poor little Sirius Black, with his good looks and good grades and natural charm and sodding amazing friends-"

"FUCK YOU!" Sirius roared, kicking James off him with his feet. James's body seemed to soar in an arc away from him before crumpling to the ground. "Shit-shit-James-"

There was a moment when Sirius really thought James was dead, that he'd killed James, that he'd done the worst thing anyone could possibly ever do-

"This is _your_ fault!" James shouted, and Sirius was angry, really, properly angry, but thank _Merlin_ James was all right-

"I bleeding _know_ that!" Sirius shouted, letting James's fist make contact with his jaw and staggering back at the sickening crack that ensued.

"I let you live in my _house_!"

"What's going on?"

And goddamn of course it would be Lily bleeding Evans-

"Evans, stay out of this," James snarled.

"Come on, mates, haven't you both had enough?" Caradoc Dearborn asked, and the look James game him was enough to make Sirius want to go home and it wasn't even directed at him.

"Piss the hell off," James said.

But Doc looked utterly unaffected. "Great way to ring in your Head Boyship, this."

"Piss off," James said. "Just because Dumbledore didn't pick you-"

"Potter," Lily Evans snarled, and the muscle in her jaw was very clearly clenched. "_Go home_."

James stared at her for a long moment, the expression on his face somewhere between pity and disgust. "Evans, you don't know what you're talking about."

"All I know is you've probably just broken Sirius's jaw when all he's done is come for a drink with us when _I_ asked him to, and when _he_ was invited, and you just showed up-"

"I didn't just show up, my mates and I were already there-"

"And decided it would be the scene of your newest ploy for attention," Lily continued loudly. "So you picked a fight with your _best sodding friend_ just outside the pub we were _all_ in-"

"Not everything is all about you, Ev-"

"So you decided that your current vendetta against Sirius Black had to take precedence over enjoying an evening with your _other_ mates, who, by the way, have been drinking alone since you walked out-"

"You don't know what he did!"

"You're being unreasonable!"

"There is no reason involved when someone ruins your best friend's life-"

"I've been with Sirius all afternoon, and he hardly seems like a life ruiner-"

"You don't know what-"

"I _don't care_! Work it out like _civilized bloody human beings_," Lily snarled, before turning on Sirius. "And _you_! Why did you provoke him?"

"I didn't-"

"You weren't exactly _contrite_!"

Sirius actually felt a little sheepish. "Sorry."

"You should be."

James groaned and ran a hand through his hair, and goddamn, as angry as he was with him Sirius really, really missed him …

"Fine," James snarled. His lip was bleeding. "_Fine_. I'm going home." He pulled out his wand.

"What are you doing?" Lily said sharply.

"Piss off," James mumbled again. "Accio glasses." They flew into his hand, all twisted wire and warped plastic and cracked glass. He turned away and left without putting them on. He had a limp when he walked, Sirius noted, and felt suddenly very guilty.

Lily was looking at him pityingly. So was Doc.

"What happened, Sirius?" Lily asked softly.

Sirius shrugged, ran a hand through his hair. "I guess we just-grew apart."

"People don't fight like that because they grew apart," Doc said.

But Sirius did not care about Caradoc Dearborn's logic; he had, after all, once engineered a clever plot to make Caradoc lose all his hair, and having seen him without his stupid pompadour, Sirius could no longer take him seriously.

"I'm going home," he announced instead. "Thanks for inviting me, Evans … it was a lot of fun."

Lily scrutinized him for a moment. "You know, Black, you _are_ a decent bloke."

Sirius snorted. "Right. That's why my best mates want nothing to do with me."

"Black," Caradoc started, but Sirius smiled at them as cheerfully as he could.

"I'm off, mate … I've got a hot date in an hour and I need to get cleaned up."

"Bloody Gryffindors don't know your bloody limits," Caradoc mumbled.

But upon returning to his flat, Sirius did not clean himself up for a date. Instead, he stood in front of his bathroom mirror and began to work the intricate spells he'd learned more for his mates post-full moon than for himself. He had half a mind to leave the bruises, just because there was that sick feeling of self-hatred bubbling up in the pit of his stomach and there might be some sort of validation in letting himself hurt. But Sirius did _not_ hate himself, not really, and so he went on healing all but the most minor of bruises, which he thought rather gave some character to his face.

Satisfied with his healing job, Sirius took a bottle of his very best firewhiskey out of its cabinet and set it on the counter. He conjured some ice and put it in a glass, over which he poured as much firewhiskey as would fit. He thought there were probably at least three shots in the glass, and that he really ought to take it slowly, but when he sat down on the couch in front of his broken telly he fully intended to down the glass in one gulp.

So Remus was dating a _Muggle_. How utterly … _Remus_ of him. Sirius wondered how Remus's date had gone, wondered if Remus missed him, too. He wondered if the ugly sneer that had overtaken James's face was always there now, or only when he was looking at Sirius. And Peter … Peter hadn't spoken to him at all, even at dinner, though there had been a watery smile when James wasn't looking that had kindled something a bit like hope in Sirius.

He pointed at his new wireless with his wand and spelled it on, hoping to catch the news on some station or a replay of a Quidditch match. Instead, the song that came on was slow and mournful, and Sirius put down the drink, closed his eyes, and buried his head in his hands, and this-

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

* * *

"This is subversion!" James was saying, back at his parents' house, hidden away in his bedroom and accompanied by a weary Remus and a sad-looking Peter. "I won't have it! I don't care _how_ fit Evans is-"

"Great legs, though, mate," Peter said.

Remus tried to hide a snort as James rounded on them.

"_Do you think this is funny_?"

"A bit, yeah," Peter admitted.

"It _is_ nice to have you fighting for my honor, honestly, but you acted like a bit of a twat."

"I wasn't fighting for your honor!"

"No," Remus agreed. "No, you were fighting for Evans's."

"Is that the correct pronunciation?" Peter asked. "Evanses? Sounds a bit Gollum-y if you ask me."

"What's a gollumy?" James asked grumpily, splashing water on his face.

"You've read Lord of the Rings?" Remus asked, somewhat impressed.

Peter looked a bit offended at that. "I _do_ have _some_ brains, you know-"

"I'll believe it when I see it," James said.

"And I _can_ read," he continued, as though James had not spoken. "Really, I can …"

Remus considered making fun of this, but James's lip was bleeding as steadily as it had been a quarter of an hour prior, when they'd all Apparated back to his house, and he was supposed to be searching for a spell just then.

Peter sighed. "You'd think we'd've had to figure out the spell for this by now," he said.

"Sirius used to do all the healing spells," Remus said, acutely aware of the tightness in his voice. "Surprisingly good at them."

"Well, had to be, didn't he? With what he's got for parents?"

James looked at Peter at this, all mournful eyes and steadily bruising cheekbone. "Yeah," he said softly, before turning back to the mirror. His fist clenched, and Remus half expected him to strike the glass and shatter it, but instead James brought his wand to his mouth. "Found it yet?"

"No. You, Pete?"

Peter frowned at his book. "I've found something for broken noses-think we can adapt it?"

"What is it?"

"Episkey."

"I think that's the same one Sirius always uses," James said, then, "I mean, used."

"You mean, is probably using right now?" Remus said.

James shrugged. "I dunno."

"Don't tell me you let him get the better of you."

"Well, he's bigger than I am, but I reckon I got a few good hits in. I think he broke one of my ribs, though …"

"Right, that one's easier," Remus said, though he frowned a little. He'd never been too good at healing spells. "Er-the book just says, 'Emendo,'" he said, holding his wand against James's torso.

James twitched a little as the bone healed itself. "Much better," he said. "Now-the lip?"

"Episkey," Remus said, and skin formed over the split lip. "I trust you can fix the bruises yourself?"

"Cheers, Moony," James said, almost absently. "Er-Remus." He pressed his wand against the bruise ballooning over his cheek and began mumbling under his breath, fixing his various remaining injuries.

Remus tossed the book onto James's bed, where Peter was now flipping absently through a Quidditch magazine, and grabbed the nearby copy of the _Daily Prophet_.

"Will Davies has an interesting piece in here on the merits of the Seeker in Quidditch," he said, smirking.

"If he says it's unnecessary, he's an idiot," James said.

"Mature, Potter."

"Don't start," Peter said wearily, and Remus laughed but continued reading the paper.

"It's just stupid, you know?" James said, lifting the hem of his shirt and examining his ribs for damage. "She's just-what does she see in him?"

"What does who see in whom?" Remus asked boredly, though he thought he already knew who the female might be. It was, he thought, rather easier to be with Emma than it was to be with his mates of late, and hadn't he gotten that the wrong way round? After all, these were his _mates_, the blokes who'd stood by him when they'd discovered his secret … and yet, Remus was bored of and annoyed with James's constant rants about Lily Evans and Peter's-well, Peter's blandness. He rather wished he'd skipped out on drinks at the Leaky Cauldron altogether-seeing Sirius had made him feel sick, and being with James now was only exacerbating the situation.

"Evans! What does she see in-in-him!"

"Doc Dearborn? Or Sirius?"

"Both! One's a daft bellend, the other's a wanker!"

"Dearborn's not daft," Peter said. "He's actually fairly clever. Sort of nice, too. He helped me with a Potions essay once."

James glared at him in the mirror. "Whose side are you on?"

Remus was no longer listening to this argument; instead, he was poring over an article, frowning.

"What's got you so interested?" James said. "Not another anti-Quidditch article, is it?"

"No," Remus said. "D'you remember that Muggle woman who went missing a few weeks ago?"

"Kristina Whatsit? Yeah, why?"

"Arhsevik," Remus said. "Well, they still haven't found her, and they're suspending the search."

"So? She probably just went on holiday and forgot to tell anyone."

"Don't be stupid, James, Muggles aren't _daft_ …"

"I only meant-it wouldn't exactly be _easy_ to get in touch with someone."

"They don't have magic mirrors or owls, James, but they're not totally helpless … they _have_ got telephones and the regular post."

"Exactly! She could've really easily just called someone and told them where she was …," Peter said.

"But how do you know she's even been reading the _Prophet_? She's a Muggle, Muggles have their own papers."

"So?"

"Anyway, that's not it-it looks like the WMA has come under fire for embezzlement or something," Remus said, frowning at the newspaper in his hands. "And the Ministry's launched a full investigation, so the organization's activities are suspended until they figure out what's going on."

James stopped healing himself and moved to look at the paper. "So? The WMA was-what, stealing money? From who?"

"I don't know," Remus said. "But it looks like whatever they did, the Ministry's milking it for all it's worth-look, there's a quote from some Ministry official …"

"He's a notorious pure-blood maniac, though," James said. "D'you think it's just-like, a deliberate smear campaign or something? To discredit wizards who like Muggles or something?"

"Could be," Remus said.

"Hang on," Peter said. "Do you think that's what Malfoy was talking about?"

"Malfoy? What's he got to do with anything?"

"Alice Kennedy said they'd seen him and he mentioned something negative about Muggle-borns being in the _Prophet_ today," James said.

"I kind of get the feeling Evans was hiding something, though," Peter said.

"You don't think she and Sirius-"

"Sirius wouldn't do that," Peter said.

"I dunno," Remus said. There was a lot he'd once thought Sirius wouldn't do-reveal his secret to their worst enemy, for one.

"It's not that it would matter if he did," James continued, returning to his reflection. "I mean, she can do whatever she likes, and so can he. It's just-she's got a boyfriend, and anyway she can do better than Sirius Black."

"Thing is, I'm not sure she can," Remus said, returning to the _Prophet_ and frowning at the travel section's feature on the Aztec pyramids in Mexico. "Sirius is good-looking, clever, and charming. Everything a girl wants, really."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you fancied him."

"Yeah, well, if it weren't for Doc Dearborn, I reckon you'd have some stiff competition on that front."

James glared at Remus. "Does Emma know you're bent for a flea-bitten arsehole?"

"Touchy, touchy," Peter said.

"Of _course_ I am-I've just had a fistfight with my former best mate." James looked around the room, undoubtedly for his cigarettes, before giving up and simply saying-rather angrily, Remus thought-"Accio fags!"

The pack sailed into his hand, and James stuck one in his mouth roughly and lit the end. He coughed out the first puff of smoke and ran a hand through his hair.

"This is getting ridiculous," Peter said wearily.

Remus did not reply, but he thought Peter had never said something he'd agreed with more.

* * *

**A/N:** Many thanks to my lovely beta, Dana.

Next chapter of My Constant should be up in the next couple of weeks.

Thanks for reading! Please leave a review! Let me know how you feel about this story so far :)


	5. On Wine

On Wine

It really was a stupid thing to care about. It was such a ridiculously simply request—the simplest thing anyone had ever asked of him, really—and it was so utterly unfair that he could not fulfill it.

He supposed he should have been used to the unfairness of his life by now, but every time something like this happened he felt somehow slighted, the scale tilted ever against him. There had to be someone, somewhere cheating—the referees of life had been bought by some arsehole who wished him ill, or someone was sitting beside him on the seesaw to prevent him from ever being able to rise—it just wasn't _fair_, and Remus typically wasn't one to complain, but he'd finally found someone who made him happy for longer than it took to get off and it was so ridiculous that he had to leave her now.

A _phone number_. It was something every Muggle had, something so utterly simple that most people wouldn't have a second thought about delivering it.

But Remus was with his mum that summer, and his mum was a witch who lacked a telephone because wizards didn't use telephones, and he'd be back at school in just a few days and there weren't any bleeding _telephones_ at Hogwarts, and Emma wanted a way to communicate with him when they weren't together and he simply couldn't provide one.

"I just—we don't really have any phone privileges at school," he stammered, hand shoved in his pocket and wrapped around his wand. "I'm not really supposed to give out the number. It's for—er—emergencies only. You know."

"I keep forgetting how young you are," Emma said, taking a sip of her coca-cola and grinning at him.

"I'm extremely mature," Remus said, fully understanding that he was somewhat undermining the supposed maturity by saying this.

And it had been an easy lie, really, but it brought to light the biggest reason they could never really work: not only was Remus a werewolf, who transformed into a creature built to destroy every full moon, but he was _also_ a wizard who wasn't actually allowed to communicate any of his actual life to someone who wouldn't even understand it if he _was_. And he liked Emma very much, but—

It wasn't like he could just _not_ be a wizard, just as much as he couldn't just not be a werewolf. And anyway, he _liked_ that he was a wizard—this was the only downside he'd ever really encountered, because Emma was lovely and sort of perfect but that didn't mean he could just—

He put a chip in his mouth. It felt too heavy on his tongue. He took a sip of his lager, and it felt too sticky, too stale. He swallowed. Emma was watching him, frowning slightly.

"So how are we going to talk to one another while we're at school?" she asked.

"I mostly just talk through the post," Remus said, shrugging, though he felt a sense of despair at what he was about to do. "Listen, Emma …"

"Don't say it," Emma said. "I know what you're about to say."

"You do?"

"Yeah, course I do. We're going to schools on opposite sides of the country from one another and it's not like we've been dating for very long … there's no reason for us to expect this to be any more than a summer fling."

"I do like you, though," Remus said, inadvertently betraying his emotions instead of agreeing with her and furthering what would, he was sure, have been a very amicable breakup. "Very much," he added, as if to further cement his own doom.

"And I like you," she replied, stirring her drink with a straw. "But we won't see each other for months, and—I don't know. I'm not exactly looking to get married."

"Well—how about this. Let's say we're not together for the term, and then meet at Christmas and see where we stand."

"D'you know what," Emma said thoughtfully. "I think that could actually work …"

"Right? We'd—we'd figure out how much we mean to each other and then go from there."

"And I could finally meet those awful mates of yours properly."

"And I could finally meet your undoubtedly lovely mum."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Lupin," she said, grinning and leaning over the table to kiss him. "D'you know what," she said after. "I heard Pat Jennings left Spurs for Arsenal."

"Yeah, the Spud's become a Gunner," Remus said. "Not sure how I feel about it, really. He's good in goal, but I don't know if he's got many seasons left in him …"

"I don't know," said Emma. "I have faith he'll do well."

"Of course you do."

"Of course I do." She smirked. Remus grinned in response.

"There's a World Cup qualifier in November," Emma said.

"I can't leave school."

"Ah." There was a pause. "Not even for a Saturday afternoon?"

"What's the date?"

"The fifteenth."

Remus wanted very badly to say yes, but the full moon was on the sixteenth that month and he would never be able to—

"I think I've got exams that week," he lied. It wasn't _fair_. Sirius would never have to deal with something like this. If Sirius wanted to watch an England qualifier at Wembley he could do it whenever he wanted. James could probably buy Wembley, and Peter—well, Peter probably wouldn't be interested in going at all.

"Ah." She paused again. "Well, that's all right." She looked at her plate, then back at him. "Well, I'll record it for you."

"Have you got a videocamera?"

"I'll _tape_ record it for you."

Remus smiled. "That's all right."

"I wouldn't mind."

"I know you wouldn't."

It had gone, Remus thought as he walked her back to her flat, much better than expected. Neither of them was crying, and he'd gotten away without having to reveal why he actually didn't have a telephone number, and now she was in the process of inviting him up to her flat for what she (probably euphemistically, he hoped) called a bit of wine. He was free to slag around with his typical Ravenclaws if he wanted (being a clever and charming teenage boy who also lacked the necessary honesty to form a committed relationship), but he could also return to this sole beam of light in his otherwise gloomy summer if he needed to in the winter.

He felt stupidly optimistic for some reason. Where only an hour or so ago he'd been unable to visualize a future in which he and Emma were fully honest with one another, now he was—well, it was stupid, and he was young, but he was already thinking about getting permission from the Ministry to reveal the existence of the Wizarding World to Emma. He was sure she'd take it well, as she liked Tolkein and Lewis and had interesting ideas about religion and power. She was more interested in progression than sticking to outdated tradition, and Remus rather thought magic could be a form of progression. Perhaps she'd even have ideas about incorporating magic in the Muggle world, making life easier for everyone by revealing magic to those who lacked it …

Emma would be good at that. Emma was—well, she was good, and clever, and—and she was going to be an MP someday, maybe (this she'd told him with a grin that only masked the wistfulness in her eyes) even become head of the Labour party and eventually Prime Minister, and who better to know about magic and work to incorporate it into the Muggle world than the first female Prime Minister?

He looked up at the wall above her telly. There was a painting of a woman with a unibrow just beside a massive photograph of Goodison Park. Remus didn't know why, but it surprised him that the people in the stands did not move. He thought it might be from the season Everton had won the championship. That had been a good team, he thought, and Arsenal had finished twelfth but had won the next season away at White Hart Lane. Remus was certain his father had never loved him more than in that moment. He didn't remember where Everton had finished. Not in the top four, certainly.

There were footballers on the pitch in the photograph, Alan Ball before he'd gone to Arsenal and Gordon West in goal, and they were stationary, as if they weren't—as if they'd never been alive. He didn't know why it was so jarring—his dad had a massive signed portrait of Reg Lewis beaming at the camera after scoring a goal, looking regal in black and white and the Arsenal strip Remus had once tried to bewitch so it turned red. It was just—Emma had photographs of her family, too, sitting on a shelf just above the telly, not many photographs but dozens of people and they weren't moving either, and Remus didn't—

"Hey." Emma pulled Remus out of his daze with a deep kiss before slipping her hands beneath the hem of his shirt. She pressed against him, nibbled on his ear.

"I thought I was only up here for a drink," he said, grinning.

"Just giving you reason to show up at Christmas," Emma replied, kissing down his throat.

Perhaps it was premature, but Remus was fairly positive that he would.

* * *

"I'm telling you," Alice said. "There's something behind this WMA thing. … There's no way they were embezzling, it's just a group of wizards and Muggles who sit in a room and talk about how to improve relations. There's no money in it to be embezzled."

Mary shrugged. "I suppose not." She turned another page in her issue of _Witch Weekly_, already bored with the conversation. Alice had hardly stopped talking about Kristina Arshevik the entire time she'd been back from Spain, and it had become a little stale.

"How can you not care about this? You're a _Muggle-born_, don't you realize what this means?"

"I s'pose not," Mary said again, skimming a genius article titled, "Does He Love You or Is It Just Amortentia?" She thought _Witch Weekly_ rather needed new headline writers.

Alice started talking, but Mary wasn't listening; instead, she was thinking about Xabier, whose presence had been the only memorable bit of her trip. Oh, sure, Spain was lovely, but lying about on a beach got boring after a while, and anyway now she was back in Britain and with her same old friends—and she and Alice had never been that close because Alice, too, was sort of boring.

"What d'you think I'd look like with short hair?" Mary asked, and she could tell it was against the flow of conversation by the strange look Alice gave her.

"I … dunno. All right, I suppose …"

"Can you believe Lily and James Potter are going to be Head Boy and Girl? That'll be a laugh."

Alice was silent for a moment. "They deserve it," she said finally.

Mary frowned. "I mean, of course, but that wasn't the point. Anyway, Caradoc Dearborn might've been a better choice for Head Boy."

"But James can control the Marauders, and Doc'd never have a chance."

"I suppose."

They lapsed into silence again, Mary skimming the makeup section of _Witch Weekly_. There was a new nail polish for sale that would apparently change colors with her mood …

"D'you know when Mead and Lily are getting here?" she asked Alice.

"Lily's got her wedding tomorrow, so I expect she'll be planning for it all day," Alice replied. "She said she'd stop by after dinner if she could, but I think she'll probably be busy with Doc for the rest of the evening …"

"Shame … I accounted for her in our dinner reservations. Well, what about Mead?"

"She'll be here in a bit … I think she gets off work around four today."

Mary glanced at the clock above Alice's head: It was three-thirty. She wondered if she could survive another half hour with Alice ranting about the Kristina Arshevik thing without Mead to crack a few jokes.

It wasn't that she didn't like Alice—it was just that Alice was too serious. She was too stuck in her own head, analyzing every single event and moment and Arithmancy problem as if they were all momentous, world-changing things when it was quite clear that they _weren't_. And Mary MacDonald cared about things, she _did_, but getting worked up about seemingly meaningless political events was not quite in her style.

She flipped the page of _Witch Weekly_. "In any case, I think the plain long brown hair has gotten boring. What d'you think of me going blond?"

"Have you been listening to me at all?" Alice said, sounding a little affronted.

"To be honest, I'm a bit bored of this WMA lark."

"How can you be bored of it? You're Muggle-_born_, don't you understand what this could mean for you?"

"You already said that," Mary said tiredly, and perhaps _that_ was the issue with Alice—once she cared about something, she really cared about it, to the extent of never talking about anything else. It had been the same when she'd first decided she wanted to be an Auror, and then again once she'd first started dating Frank, and now she was stuck on this WMA business and Mary cared about Muggle-born rights, she _did_, because of course they affected her, but perhaps she was just tired of hearing this same exact argument from Alice.

"Then why don't you—"

"Let's just wait for Mead. Maybe she'll have something new to add."

Alice stared at her for a moment before sighing. "Fine. I've got to finish reading this book before the end of the week anyway …"

Mead arrived eventually, and though she was late she had Lily in tow: "Sorry, Doc ambushed me on my way out of work," Mead said.

"I thought you two were spending the evening together," Alice said, frowning at Lily.

"We were supposed to," Lily said. "But the Auror office is apparently really busy—he said there's been another disappearance."

"I told you," Alice said, just as Mary said, "What?"

"It's another WMA member, but it won't be in the _Prophet_ until tomorrow—but you can bet it won't get priority when England has a Quidditch Cup qualifier tonight," Mead said grimly.

"That can't be a coincidence," Alice said grimly. "Who was it?"

"It was just a random member, but look—this one's a Muggle-born, so it's actually sort of the Ministry's business to figure out what happened to him."

"What was his name?"

"Er—Something Print. Or maybe Price. Er—Pince?"

"Richard Prince," Lily said, rolling her eyes before frowning. "Is that a common name? Prince?"

"Think so," Mary said. "At least for Muggles. Why? Do you know a—"

"Sev's mum's last name is Prince," Lily said, not meeting anyone's eyes. "I just wondered if—Anyway, it's not important. The point is, this Prince bloke has disappeared and no one knows where he's gone or why. His family's really worried."

"It's got to be Voldemort and his Death Eater thugs," Alice said. "It just—it couldn't possibly be anyone else, could it?"

Lily frowned. "I dunno," she said slowly. "It's just—it's not exactly his style, is it?"

"What do you mean, his _style_?" Alice said. "As in—he makes people disappear in other ways?"

"Well, sort of," Lily said. "I mean—he's not exactly stealthy, is he, and the Arshevik disappearance and now the Prince one—well, they're not exactly _celebrities_."

"But they're both WMA members."

"Right, but that hardly means Voldemort killed them both. He's not—well, he's not exactly stealthy, is he? Every Death Eater attack so far has been a lot more vicious than a few random pro-integration activists."

"So? Maybe he's got a political angle now—like, he wants to take apart the institutions that allow for greater integration in order to further his—his cause, or whatever."

Mead was frowning, eyes flicking back and forth from Lily to Alice, but Mary was, yet again, _bored_. "Let's go to the place we reserved for dinner," she said. "It's not too far. … I think it'd be a nice walk."

"Yeah, let's," Lily agreed.

Alice gathered up her books and shoved them into her bag.

"Did you reserve it for four, Mary?" Mead asked.

"Yeah, I knew Lil'd get sick of Doc or something and show up to eat."

"The point is," Alice said once they were seated at the restaurant (and Mary really wished she'd give it a break). "He's trying to work through Ministry officials he's got under his control—look at that one bloke who said he was certain the WMA was embezzling in the _Prophet_ last month. Voldemort can take the Wizarding World with so much more ease if he's got the Ministry on his side."

"Keep your voice down," Mead said. "Those Muggles just looked over at us."

Mary glanced at the table nearby, where there was indeed a Muggle staring at them. Once Mary met his gaze, he blushed and looked away. She considered it a triumph.

"I don't know," Lily said, her voice much lower than Alice's had been. "That's true, but I don't know if—well, I just don't know if I believe he's not still just trying to use brute force. This could be some random other rogue group, but just because they hate Muggles, doesn't mean they're Voldemort."

Alice opened her mouth to continue, but Mary cut her off.

"Lily, d'you think I should cut my hair? It's just so _boring_ like this ..."

"Your hair's lovely," Lily said. "But you'd look lovely bald with only half an eyebrow and a great chunk taken out of your nose."

"You're useless," Mary said. "Mead, what d'you think?"

Mead looked at Mary speculatively. "Not sure," she said. "I'd say—if you went with a bob it'd probably look fine, but any shorter and your chin would stick out too far."

"Thanks," Mary said. "See, Lil, you're sweet, but _that_ is how you give someone advice."

"Not my fault Mead's a bitch," Lily said, withdrawing her pack of cigarettes. "I'm going out for a fag—anyone want …?"

When no one responded, Lily shrugged.

"Order me a coffee when the waiter comes round," she said, departing.

"A coffee?" Mead said after she'd left. "For dinner? At _this_ restaurant?"

"I think Lily forgets to eat in moments of stress," Mary suggested.

"What's she got to be stressed about? It's _summer_."

Mary shrugged, though she had a few ideas: There was Doc, obviously, whom Lily seemed to like less and less as time went on, and there was Sev, whom Lily did not seem able to stop bringing up, and of course there was this Richard Prince fellow and for all she said about Alice being obsessed with this WMA case, Mary was well aware of the implications of Muggle-borns and members of the WMA silently going missing without so much as a proper Ministry investigation to figure out what exactly was wrong with them or even a properly long _Daily Prophet_ article or missing poster, and if Mary was aware of it then it must be eating Lily up to think about, and of course there was the all-important impending last year at Hogwarts, and Lily—well, Lily wanted to be successful, and that meant she'd have to work all the time, and it made perfect sense, really, that Lily would be stressed at the moment.

"In any case," Alice said. "I think she's wrong, don't you? It's _got_ to be Death Eaters, hasn't it?"

"I mean," Mead said slowly. "I don't—I don't really know either way, obviously, but I think—well, we've got to trust that the Aurors will figure it out. It's not up to us just now. We don't—well, we just don't have any real ability to figure it out."

"But doesn't it _matter_?"

"I mean, of course it matters," Mead said impatiently. "But it's pointless to argue about it endlessly the way you've been doing because we can never actually know what happened because we don't have the resources to investigate it."

"But that's not—" Alice started, but at the steely look on Mead's face, she fell silent at last. Mary wondered how Mead had developed that particular skill, and resolved to ask her about it later if she was to survive the entire year in a dormitory with Alice, Alexandria Moore, Natalie Spinnet, and no Lily.

"Hello, ladies," their waiter said, arriving at last. "I trust you've had enough time to decide what you'll have …?"

"I'll have pesto ravioli and your cheapest wine," Mary told their waiter. He was sort of cute, with a smattering of freckles across his nose and straw-colored hair. He smiled broadly at her.

"Our ravioli is fresh-rolled every evening, and our house pesto is made from the freshest basil this side of the Mediterranean Sea," he said. "You've made a fine choice."

Mead snorted. "Sounds perfect," she said. "The same for me."

"For me as well," Alice said. "Oh, and our other friend will have—er—"

"Also the same," Mead said.

Their waiter nodded, winked at Mary.

"I think you deserve better than the cheapest wine," he said. "I'll see what I can do."

"Ooh, Mary," Alice said, grinning, having apparently decided to be the slightly less annoying version of herself. "I think you've got an admirer."

Mary looked at their waiter's receding back. "He's cute," she decided.

"I hope he _does_ upgrade our wine," Mead said. "Cheap wine gives me terrible hangovers."

"How much are you planning on drinking? It's not five o clock," Alice said.

"A lot," Mary said, with Mead nodding her agreement before Lily finally reappeared, smelling like cigarette smoke and running a hand absently through her hair before draining her class of water.

"Luckies make me so cotton-mouthed," she said. "Hasn't our food gotten here yet?"

"The waiter's only just taken our orders," Alice said.

"Oh." Lily frowned at her now-empty glass. "Did you order wine?"

"Of course."

"Good."

The waiter came back shortly to pour them all wine—with another wink at Mary, who suddenly remembered Xabier with an uncomfortable swooshing sensation in the pit of her stomach and decided the waiter looked rather boring. She wondered vaguely if he spoke Spanish—or, for that matter, bloody Basque.

"This isn't bad," Mead said, taking a sip.

"Please, as if you're some sort of wine connoisseur," Lily said, rolling her eyes. "You wouldn't know Hardy's Reserve from a rioja..."

Everyone stared at her. Lily blushed. "Petunia made us all take a wine-tasting class," she explained.

"Listen, Lil," Mead said. "I think taking Doc to that wedding's going to change your life—I think he's going to propose."

Lily snorted. "Right. Just before our last year at school, a bloke I've broken up with three times over the last year and a half is going to ask me to spend the rest of my life with him."

Mary laughed despite herself. "Makes sense," she said.

"Doc'd do something stupid like that," Mead said. "Knowing him."

There was a brief silence that was surprisingly tense, and then—

"D'you know, I think I might just bleach my hair," Mary said.

Lily looked at her scrutinizingly. "D'you know what," she said slowly. "I think that could work for you."

Mead cocked her head to the side. "You could feather it. Like—what's her name. That American bird."

Mary grinned and thought it was perhaps time for her to call her hairstylist.

* * *

The night before her sister's wedding, Lily was standing next to her mother in the kitchen, drying dishes while her mother dried them.

"Are you at all—worried?" Lily said, not entirely sure she wanted to talk about it but fairly certain it was a necessary conversation.

"About the Dursleys? Not at all … I know you don't much like them, but they've been nothing but kind to us and your sister."

"No, I meant—living alone. It's not—I know you've never …"

"Don't be silly, dear. I lived alone while you and your sister were at school."

"Yeah, but—Petunia came by every weekend to make sure you were doing all right, and anyway she's been out of uni for a year."

"I'll be fine, Lily," her mother said, handing her a glass. There was a spot on it. Lily rubbed at it absently with the towel she was holding until her mother handed her another dish. There was a spot on this one, too, but her mother—once obsessed with the quality and cleanliness of her flatware—seemed hardly to be paying attention.

"Maybe we should switch," Lily said. "Don't want the water to dry out your hands just before the wedding."

"But what about your hands?"

"I can just do magic and fix them. Let's just—here, I'll—"

Lily took the sponge her mother was holding limply in her hand.

"Are you excited for tomorrow?" she asked.

"Oh, of course … your sister will look so beautiful in her dress, and of course _you_, the prettiest bridesmaid …"

"I'll probably be late coming back," Lily said. "Caradoc and I have a late date."

"That sounds lovely, dear." Daniella was returning dishes to their cabinets without fully drying them, and Lily mumbled a charm when her mother wasn't paying attention so the plates would dry themselves.

"Are you going to be able to drive me to King's Cross on Monday?"

"Of course, dear," Daniella said. "I wouldn't miss your last trip back to school."

Neither of them voiced what lay in the air between them: For the first time, Petunia would not be accompanying them on their drive, just as the previous year had been the first time her father had not accompanied them on their drive. It was, Lily thought sadly, as if she was losing a family member a year. She wanted very badly to hug her mother, but Daniella looked almost too fragile just then and instead Lily dried her hands on a towel.

"Looks like we're done here," Lily said, smiling at her mum.

Daniella smiled weakly back and—for once—followed Lily into the living room instead of climbing the stairs to her bedroom.

They watched telly idly for a bit before Daniella stood and stretched. "I think it's time for me to head to bed, dear," she said. "Have a good night."

She kissed the top of Lily's head, patted her shoulder lightly, and ascended the stairs.

Lily glanced at her watch: nine-thirty.

Well, at least that meant progress.

* * *

Lord Voldemort had already fallen when a Death Eater finally got the better of Doc Dearborn, who would go absolutely mental a year out of school immediately following the murder of Dorcas Meadowes.

Doc would stop responding to owls and Patronuses from the Order of the Phoenix, leave his long sought-after job at the Ministry, and search out the Dark wizards whom he thought were responsible for Dorcas's death—not to capture and imprison them, but to kill them. He would avoid capture by Aurors due to the ruthlessness of Barty Crouch's Death Eater-capturing laws and the sympathy of the public to those who had been personally affected by the war.

Now, however, Doc Dearborn was very much against any sort of Barty Crouch's anti-human rights, pro-filling the prisons legislation and was sitting at the table reserved for immediate family at a Muggle girl's wedding next to his on-again off-again girlfriend, who was smoking a cigarette in her bridesmaid dress and taking big gulps of the pink drink in her glass and very deliberately not looking at him.

"So where d'you go to school, then?" one of the Muggles asked him, and Caradoc turned frantically to Lily.

"Er—" he said.

"Caradoc goes to Agatha's brother school, St.—er—"

"James," Caradoc said, saying the first name that popped into his mind and wondering absurdly whether there was a Saint called James or not.

Lily raised an eyebrow skeptically at him. He couldn't conceal a half-apologetic, half-cheeky grin.

"Yeah, I'm doing my—er—regular levels …"

"His A levels," Lily said. "We're in the same year at school."

The Muggle who'd asked seemed to regret having said anything, but now another chimed in.

"Caradoc? That's Welsh, isn't it?"

"Er—yeah," Caradoc said.

"You haven't got the accent."

"Yeah, well, my dad's from Cardiff," Caradoc said. "Mum's from Bristol, though. They met at—er—university."

"What's your dad do?" another Muggle asked, and beside him Lily groaned.

"Honestly, Marge, you don't have to question every single aspect of his life."

"Ah, unemployed then is he?" Marge said.

"No, he's, er—he works in government."

"Does he? Tell him the government's hardly working."

"Not the British government, exactly," Doc said.

"Welsh?"

"Nah—er, sort of more—local."

"Is he a politician, then?"

"Sort of," Doc said.

"I expect he's not one of those free-thinking hippies?" Marge asked. "He hasn't got long hair, does he? Doesn't smoke—er—_marijuana_?"

Lily rolled her eyes, but Caradoc had to bite back a laugh. "Er—course not," he replied, and Marge finally looked satisfied, downing the rest of her wine.

"So you go to St. James, then?" another Muggle said. "Lily, didn't you tell us Agatha's was for people with special talents? Is it the same at St. James?"

"Er," said Caradoc.

"Yeah," Lily cut in. "Caradoc's especially gifted in—er—astronomy."

"Io is my favorite moon," Caradoc said.

Lily snorted, but the Muggles finally relented, turning to converse with one another instead.

"Er, Lily," he said quietly. "How much longer have we got to sit here?"

"We just need to get through dessert and then we can drink and dance for the rest of the night," she replied, eating some of her tart and taking a sip of her drink.

Caradoc wondered if Lily's reluctance to meet his eyes was deliberate or not. There certainly didn't seem to be any contempt behind it, but then, he never really knew with Lily anymore.

"Have some of this whiskey," Doc said, thrusting his glass at her. "I've never tasted something that goes down so smooth."

"I'm fine with this," she said, sipping from the pink liquid in her own glass. "Sweet and strong and probably ten thousand calories, just how I like my liquor."

"Just _taste it_," he said. "Come on—so much better than Ogden's if you ask me."

She begrudgingly took a sip. "Delicious," she said, wincing. "How can you drink that, honestly, it's like rubbing alcohol."

"It's fine scotch," the Muggle called Marge cut in. "I'd say your boyfriend knows how to drink, Lily. Have you two thought about marriage?"

"I'm only seventeen, Marge," Lily said.

"Still, you'll want a husband soon, Lily. Complexions like yours don't last forever, especially for gingers. You're already starting to wrinkle!"

"_What_?" Lily said, peering at herself in her spoon. "I'm not starting to wrinkle! I'm practically pubescent—"

"I think what Marge means," Caradoc said, "is that you—er—should stay out of the sun? Lest you … accidentally turn your skin into leather?"

Lily snorted. "I suppose I know why I keep you around, Doc—you're just so bloody daft that it's impossible not to want to hang around you."

"Really? That's the only reason?"

Lily winked at him before promptly waving down the waiter for a refill on her drink. "Listen, Doc, I'm going out for a quick fag."

"D'you want me to—"

"No, it's fine," she said, smiling at him. The expression did not reach her eyes. She'd been smoking inside only a moment before. "You go ahead and socialize with the Dursleys."

Sometimes Caradoc wondered why they even bothered. It seemed Lily did not even like him much anymore.

He sighed and smiled at the Muggle child beside him—and, really, he should probably learn their names—but the Muggle only stared back at him curiously.

"Why've you got a long pointy thing sticking out of your pants?"

The other Muggles turned on him at once.

"Not exposing yourself, are you, Caradoc?" Marge asked.

"Er—perhaps you've had quite enough to drink," Lily's mum said.

"Oh—no—sorry," Doc said. "Er—it's only—I've got a sort of—good luck charm …"

"No need for euphemisms, Caradoc, we're all adults here," another Muggle said graciously, before frowning at the little girl who'd originally spoken. "Well—except for Diana. Diana, go and sit with your daddy, dear."

Diana blinked up at them. "Can I see the good luck charm?" she said.

Caradoc groaned inwardly. The Muggles at the table glared at him.

"Really," he said. "It's just a sort of—good luck stick. Bit of wood from my first tree house, that's it."

Understanding suddenly dawned on Lily's mum's face. "Ah, I know exactly what you're talking about! Lily's got one too!"

"Yeah—er—birthday present."

"Let's see it, then," Marge said, and Caradoc wanted to kick himself (and Lily) for getting himself into this situation.

"Here it is," he said, holding the wand up and wishing there was some sort of spell to Muggle-ify his arm so he couldn't do magic until he left. "Just a piece of wood, see?"

Marge reached for it, and before he could stop her, she was turning it in her fingers. "Yes, come to think of it, I _do_ think I've seen Lily's …"

Caradoc looked at her in alarm. Lily'd had her wand out around Muggles?

But, then, Muggle clothes hardly had very deep pockets, and if she'd been wearing shorts it was probably borderline impossible to have her wand completely concealed at all …

Marge made to bend the wood, and Doc snatched it out of her hands, manners be damned. "See? Just a bit of wood," he said, smiling in what he hoped was a reassuring way.

"Hmm," she said. "Rather shiny, though."

"Er—yeah—I—polish it," he said, rather lamely and very aware of what it sounded like he was saying. "Er—I'm going to go and see where Lily's gotten to."

Once outside, he cornered Lily almost immediately. She was perched up on top of her mum's car, legs crossed and bridesmaid dress hiked up around her, bottle of wine at her side.

"I think you're breaking several indecent exposure laws right now," he said, and she started.

"Doc," she said. "Sorry—was I taking too long?"

"A bit," he said, frowning. "Lily, one of your relatives saw my _wand_."

"Why'd you have it out?" She offered him the bottle, and he took a swig from it. It was quite good—the Muggles knew what they were doing, that was for sure.

"It was in my pocket—bloody Muggle clothing doesn't make pockets big enough!"

"Not their fault they don't keep sticks on their person at all times. How'd you explain it away?"

"I told them it was from a tree house, but that's not the point. Why'd you leave me with all of them? I'm not a Muggle, Lils! I don't even _know_ any Muggles except for my aunt, and she already knows all about magic so I don't have to hide anything from her, and you left me with a bunch of strange Muggles!"

Lily had the grace to look ashamed. "Sorry, Doc. I just—the Dursleys are sort of awful and I just had to get away for a moment. Listen, I'll make it up to you, all right?"

"I'd like to see you try," Doc said. "You nearly just let me expose our entire world because of a little girl!"

"I mean, she probably would have noticed it whether I'd been there or not."

"Yeah, but at least you could have backed me up! And anyway, they're all mental, your Muggles. Why do they care what my dad does?"

"That's just the Dursleys. Utterly conservative, utterly stupid, utterly concerned about things that don't matter," Lily said dismissively, flicking the ash off the end of her cigarette and drumming her fingers on the metal of the car. She was no longer looking at Doc, instead choosing to focus her gaze on another car.

"Lils," Doc said. "Do you think we should—"

"We can go home as soon as the dancing starts," Lily interrupted. "We only have to stay long enough for me to dance with some family and appease Petunia, and then we can go back to yours if you like … or mine, but we'd have to cast Muffliato and hope my mum doesn't come looking for me or anything."

Doc sighed. "Mine's fine. My parents are on holiday."

"Convenient," Lily said, though she frowned a little. "How come you didn't tell me that before?"

"I forgot," Doc said honestly.

"I was only there two days ago, and I _tip-toed_ out so I wouldn't make noise Apparating …"

"Is that what that was? I thought you were just sore."

"Oh, please," Lily said, rolling her eyes. "As if you could have that kind of an effect on me."

"Are you calling me inadequate?"

"Course not," she said, smiling cheekily. "Though you could try and prove me wrong later …"

And Doc, for all of his irritation with Lily, _did_ sort of enjoy her company, even if that enjoyment seemed to increase exponentially the less clothing she was wearing.

It was not until much later that he realized just how wrong it all was:

For a moment when they were in bed he felt that he loved her utterly. She bit hard into his shoulder, fingernails digging into his back before relenting as she panted against him.

He rolled off her, after, kissed her neck. "Spend the night," he whispered, head leaning against her side. Her heartbeat felt strangely reassuring.

"Mum'll worry," she replied, but he knew better: he was sure he'd seen Severus Snape stalking around the Evanses' before the wedding, and they'd broken up over him before, and Lily cared about everyone's emotions except for Caradoc's: undoubtedly, she wanted to keep Snape from being too heartbroken, as he certainly would be if he did not see her arrive home that night.

Caradoc rolled his eyes and sighed, voiced his thoughts without really meaning to. "Snape?"

"Of course not," she said, but the lie was evident in the way she sat up and pulled one of Doc's Yangos out of its package on the nightstand and inhaled slowly. He watched the way her neck stretched as she exhaled, a little mournfully.

"Please stay," he said again after she'd put the butt down in his ashtray and tugged her dress back down over her head.

She leaned forward, kissed him slowly with her hand cupped around the back of his head. She tasted like wedding cake. Cigarette smoke. Familiar.

"I can't." She could.

"Let me walk you home, then." He didn't want to.

"I'll be fine alone." She didn't want him to, either.

"I'll see you on the Hogwarts Express, then." He wouldn't look out for her.

"I love you." She didn't, but she didn't know it yet.

"I love you too." He didn't, either.

* * *

**A/N:** This chapter is so much shorter than the rest because it and the next chapter were initially one and the same, but then I realized that as they were split down the middle between the last week before school started and everyone's trip back to Hogwarts and decided I'd just go with it. Most chapters will probably be significantly longer than this, as most already-written chapters already are (though obviously, I could make similar changes to all of them).

Please leave a review if you enjoyed this. They make me write significantly faster!

Special thanks to my lovely beta, Dana, for reading all of this and reminding me to say "football" every time I wrote "soccer."

New chapter of My Constant will be up in a few weeks. I'm on sort of a writing-kick, so it should be done as soon around Thanksgiving.


	6. Fly, Ape, Dog

**Fly, Ape, Dog**

Frank Longbottom glanced at the clock above his desk. There were twenty minutes before he was to meet Alice to see her off, but at the moment he was diligently copying paperwork for Moody, who'd glared at him for being late that morning (which had, of course, been Alice's fault) and assigned him desk work for the rest of the week. It was frustrating more than it was tedious to be reassigned to the office just when he'd started making headway in the field—sure, all he'd been doing was taking notes and cleaning up crime scenes after Aurors had weaned all the information from them possible, but being out there, seeing what was happening, was so much better than sitting here at his desk making copies. Now that all the Hogwarts apprentices were returning to school, Frank had a feeling he'd be doing things like this much more often.

"Oi, Longbottom!" an Auror also sitting at his desk—much more disgruntledly than was Frank—called. "Finished those Prince reports yet?"

As a matter of fact, he had—Alice was obsessed with the Prince case, and while Frank certainly thought it was important he couldn't say the same for the rest of the Auror office. That this particular Auror was even asking about it just meant he wasn't very high up, or perhaps that Moody or Barty Crouch just didn't like him.

"They're on Caldwell's desk," Frank replied, glancing at the clock again and pressing his wand too hard against the parchment before him. The parchment singed a little, just enough to make the words he'd copied onto it illegible, and he Vanished it immediately, making a new one.

"Got somewhere to be?" the Auror—his name was Norton, Frank thought, or perhaps Newman—said.

"Sort of," Frank said, waving his wand so that the parchment all over his desk organized itself into neat little stacks. There was a fly buzzing around his face, and he swatted at it in annoyance.

"Where's that?"

"I'm seeing my—my mates off. It's first day at Hogwarts and everything."

"Ah." The Auror was silent for a moment. "Girlfriend?"

Frank glanced at him. He was sneering, just a little. Frank put his wand down.

"Yeah," he admitted. "She's—" But he could not think what Alice was. "Great," he finished lamely.

"That blonde? The one who brings tea by sometimes?"

"Er," Frank said. The fly had not died earlier and was now crawling on a piece of his parchment. Frank whacked at it with his rolled up copy of the _Daily Prophet_, but the fly was too fast and flew away before he could catch it.

"What's her name?"

"I have to go," Frank said. "I'm going to be late." The fly had come to rest on his arm, and he slapped at it, missed again. Norton-or-perhaps-Newman aimed his wand at it, and the fly froze in midair before falling, dead, on the floor.

"Vanish that, will you," he said.

Frank did. "I'll see you in an hour," he said.

"Bring back some of those sandwiches from Maimie's for lunch and I won't report you if you're late."

Frank did not reply—he had already gathered his things and slung his bag over his shoulder and was now hurriedly walking away from the Auror office. He did not much like Norton-or-perhaps-Newman, and he was sure Norton-or-perhaps-Newman did not much like him, either.

He was supposed to meet Alice just by the 9 ¾ sign at the platform, but she wasn't there yet when he first arrived and so he frowned, watching the students mill about, thinking about how odd it was that he, too, wasn't milling about with them. Already, there were too many faces he didn't recognize and too many faces he couldn't remember. It felt—not bad, exactly, but certainly not—not right.

"Frank!" called a voice, and he looked over to see Emmeline Vance—the Head Girl to his Head Boy the previous term—waving at him.

"Em," he said, relieved to see a familiar face, especially one that had to be experiencing the same things he was. "How was your summer?"

"Oh, you know," she said vaguely. "A little of this, a little of that …"

"I thought you were going to try and become an Auror?"

"I thought my talents lay more within administration," Emmeline replied. "How about you? How is the Auror trainee program?"

"It can be terrifying and exciting," he said. "But also dead boring."

Emmeline laughed. "Sounds perfect for you, then."

Frank was unsure how to take this, so instead of responding he said, "Here to see Eddie off?"

"Yeah, Mum's crying … she keeps saying how her little boy's all grown up now. I never garnered that kind of reaction." But Emmeline was grinning, and so Frank smiled too. "And you're here for Alice, I presume? Not some secret Auror duties?"

"No, Alice it is," Frank said. "Speaking of which, have you seen—"

"She's just behind you," Emmeline said, grinning.

Frank turned, and sure enough, there was Alice, looking around as if searching for something—him, probably. He waved to get her attention, and when he caught it she beamed at him, quickened her pace.

"I'm going to go make sure Eddie's not been smothered by our mum," Emmeline said. "Good to see you, Frank."

"You too," Frank said, but he was no longer even looking at Emmeline. Alice was stood in front of him, head tilted ever so slightly to the side.

"Good morning, Frank."

"Good morning, Alice."

She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him hello—not a real kiss, just a peck, something appropriate for public, and this Frank acknowledged with the tiniest bit of annoyance—and then stood back, pushing a lock of hair out of her face.

And then he realized something, something so simple that he couldn't believe he hadn't realized it before:

Frank did not want Alice to go back to school.

They were standing very close to one another on the train platform; Alice was very still, staring somewhere off into the distance, and Frank did not want her to go back to school.

It wasn't that he didn't want her to graduate and become an Auror trainee, of course; that'd be ridiculous. It wasn't even that he wished she was a year older so they could be doing all of this together (though, of course, that _would_ have been nice).

It was just—

The midday sun was cast across Alice's face, making it seem almost to glow, and her blond hair gleamed in the light like gold, and she smelled like shampoo and his aftershave from the night before and she was not looking at him or at the train but she had a thoughtful look on her face like she was contemplating everything that was beautiful and terrible about being alive with a distinct feeling of resignation to whatever happened. But she probably wasn't thinking that at all; in fact, Frank thought Alice was probably thinking about where she might sit on the Hogwarts Express, how she might best position herself to nap (because the movements of the train always soothed her, but sitting down awkwardly while sleeping always left her sore), perhaps even what the year would be like without him.

She turned to him just before the clock struck eleven.

"I've got to go," she said softly, though she did not move closer to him or the train.

"I know," Frank said, reaching for her.

This time it was a real kiss, a proper kiss, and perhaps it wasn't exactly suitable for a train platform crowded with families and young children, but Frank couldn't make himself care. He wanted their kiss to last forever, or at least until Christmas, but alas, Alice pulled away, smiling a little.

"I'll write you," she said.

She would.

"Your first owl from me will be there by dinner," Frank promised.

It would.

"We can do this," Alice said.

They could.

"We'll be fine," Frank said.

They wouldn't.

* * *

Dorcas Meadowes had fallen asleep much too early on August the thirty-first, woken up almost too late on September the first, dozed off on the Hogwarts Express despite being in a compartment filled with several very loud seventeen year old females, and was now guzzling a cup of coffee and eating some pumpkin pasties she'd just bought at the food trolley she'd found halfway down the Hogwarts Express, sort of dreading the inevitable caffeine-induced insomnia that would undoubtedly strike as soon as she set her head down to sleep that night.

"Well, _I'm_ getting one," said a very proud-sounding voice drifting out of an open compartment as Mead made her way back to her own compartment. "And I think _you_ should get one too, Snape."

Mead stopped chewing her pumpkin pasty and froze just in front of the compartment, frowning. That had sounded like Edward Avery, and anything he had that he thought Severus Snape should also have couldn't possibly be good news.

"I've told you," Snape was saying. "I'm just not sure I _need_ a group to help me … realize my talents."

Dorcas frowned deeper. What talents? Talents for being a git?

"Oh, come off it," Avery scoffed. "You've _always_ needed a group …"

"Shut up, someone'll hear you," another voice, this one less familiar, said. "Look, the door's open."

Dorcas immediately started walking quickly away from the compartment, but someone called her name.

"Oi, Meadowes!"

She turned, and sure enough, Avery was leaning out of the compartment, glaring at her.

"Avery," she said.

He started at her for a long moment, evidently trying to figure out if she'd heard him. "How about those Quidditch qualifiers, eh?" he said finally. "Surprised Norrington didn't call for a rematch after that ape's Bludger knocked him off his broom—"

Dorcas's blood boiled: Avery, she knew, was talking about a misdirected Bludger from one of the English national team's Beaters, Ted Jones—who, naturally, happened to be black.

Avery was smirking. Mead's wand was already in her hand without her having noticed even taking it out. Avery backed away a little, his smirk wavering.

"Careful, Meadowes," he said warningly. "There's a prefect just in there—wouldn't want to start the term with a load of detentions—"

"Don't test me, Avery," Mead said, pointing her wand at him and gritting her teeth, mentally raking through every jinx she knew.

Avery seemed to think this was good advice, as he slipped back into his compartment with a final sneer. Mead shoved her wand back into her pocket angrily and gulped more of her coffee. She felt too hot, suddenly, like her robes were weighing her down, and suddenly wished she wasn't wearing them. She wondered if Ollie Caldwell was around somewhere … they hadn't exchanged so much as an owl all summer, but she found herself quite missing him now. She wondered if he might be in the same compartment they'd spent their trip back to King's Cross in at the end of the previous term and tried to remember which one it was.

She was in sort of a sour mood, so perhaps it was not the brightest idea to go searching for Caldwell just now, but she much preferred to spend the trip with him than with Lily, who was sure to want to babble about how much she hated James Potter, or with Alice, who still hadn't stopped talking about Kristina Arshevik, or with Mary, who cared very little about anything important at best and was sort of vapid at worst.

And—that was mean, Mead thought, but for some reason Avery's words had made her insides turn cold. Ted Jones _had_ made a mistake in that match, anyone could see it, but that hadn't been because—

He was a half-blood, she was fairly certain, just like her, and black, obviously, also like her, and she'd never really noticed much racism in the Wizarding World. Race seemed to be something everyone ignored in favor of blood status, but there was Avery, being an awful prick as usual. She wondered if he even cared at all about race or if he'd just been trying to wind her up.

Ollie, as it turned out, _was_ in the compartment they'd shared at the end of last term.

"Caldwell," she said, relieved.

He glanced up at her, smirked, ran a hand through his hair. "Meadowes. How was your summer?"

"Boring."

"Miss me?"

"Not even a little bit."

She sat down next to him—three of his mates were there, too, and Mead briefly wondered how they'd get out of this situation.

"This is Mead," he said. "Mead, you know Rob—"

"I know everyone," she interrupted. "I've only been going to school with them for six years."

Caldwell had the grace to look a little ashamed, though this he did with a cheeky grin. "Right," he said. "Listen, Mead—have you seen the food trolley around? Only, I'm really craving a spot of pumpkin juice …"

"D'you know what," Mead said. "I think I saw it a few compartments down."

"Why don't you just wait for it to get here?" asked Rob Walcott.

Caldwell stared at him for a long moment. Mead did, too. Rob Walcott was a dolt.

"Er … I'm really thirsty now," Caldwell said. "Mead … ?"

She stood and followed him back out of the compartment. He cornered her immediately, pressed her against the glass wall of another compartment, this one with a shut door and drawn curtains.

"How was your summer _really_?" he asked.

"Like I said," Mead said. "_Boring_."

Caldwell kissed her, and—and that was sort of nice.

*

Mead was unsurprised when, upon returning to the compartment her friends were in (after having slammed into a very talkative Natalie Spinnet on her way back from Caldwell's compartment), Lily immediately looked up at her and groaned, "You'll never believe this—Potter wasn't lying! He's actually Head Boy!"

"Blimey, Lily, who _cares_?" Mead snapped, then felt immediately bad about it. "Sorry," she said. "I only meant—he's not a bad bloke."

"Well, no," Lily said. "But—we're not exactly _mates_."

"So become mates," Alice said. "It's not like he's going to corner you after a prefect meeting and shove his tongue down your throat."

"And if he does," Mary said, "maybe you'll like it."

"Disgusting, Mary, _Merlin_."

"As if Lily would ever lower herself to the level of James Potter," Mead said. "Not when she has the oh-so-glorious Caradoc Dearborn …"

"He's your _best friend_, Mead, you'd think you'd like him a bit more."

"Well, _you_ don't like him very much, and you're shagging him, so—" Mead said.

"I like him just fine!"

But Mead was frowning. She'd spoken in jest, but now, upon thinking about it properly, she realized just how awful Doc and Lily really were together; here was Lily, playing absentmindedly with her lighter and chewing her lip, and where was Doc? On a compartment somewhere else on the train with his other friends, also trying to avoid talking about Lily?

It had been Dorcas who'd first introduced them, back in third year, but they hadn't gotten together until much later, and now they appeared to be sort of—well, stuck. Anyone who knew anything about Doc could see he barely liked Lily, let alone loved her … and Lily, well, _she_ wasn't over Snape just yet and still appeared to be somewhat emotionally stunted from their shattered friendship. Perhaps if Mead told her what she'd overheard, Lily might change her mind, but just now she was spouting off about how (apparently) obnoxious James Potter had been during their prefect meeting. Only Mary was really paying attention; Alice was, as usual, frowning at an article in the _Prophet_, probably thinking about how the Wasps' latest Quidditch score might be related to the Kristina Arshevik disappearance, bless her. Mead, meanwhile, was already feeling overheated in her clothing. She pulled off her robe and pulled back her hair, hoping it would cool her off, and Lily had not stopped talking when Mead tuned back into the conversation.

It had been, she reflected dully when they reached Hogsmeade, a sort of awful last trip back.

All the same, upon arriving at Hogwarts, Mead watched the Sorting with a familiar delight, though this time it was tinged with a new and disconcerting bout of nostalgia. It was, after all, her last Sorting—her last year at the place that had been her home the past six years, whose traditions had become her traditions, whose walls she knew as well as the spells she'd learned within them.

Dumbledore stood once all the students were seated, smiling at everyone, though for once his smile did not seem to meet his piercing blue eyes.

"Good evening, students," he said, eyes sweeping the Great Hall. "I am aware that much of the entertainment for this evening traditionally comes from the Sorting, but I'm afraid in light of recent events I must take this opportunity to convey a very important message to you.

"You are, of course, aware, that our world is a divided one. The schism between Muggle and Wizard happened many years ago, and is not likely to be paved over in our lifetimes—certainly not in mine." This elicited a confused chuckle from the students, and Dumbledore smiled indulgently before continuing.

"Those bridging the gap, however, have recently come under attack from those who would keep our worlds separate, those who think they are above the people who bridge the gap. We cannot allow this to stand without fighting it. Look around at your classmates: the people who surround you come from varied backgrounds, and this can only enrich your world.

"Our school is strong. I urge you to look past House divides—all of you together can be truly spectacular."

The Great Hall filled with murmurs before Dumbledore cleared his throat loudly and continued, "Mr. Filch has asked me to remind you …"

But no one was listening anymore. Alice turned to Mead, frowning. "I _told_ you the Arshevik thing was important—"

"Not that Kristina woman again," Lily said, frowning. "This seems bigger than that—more important, or something."

"Didn't you hear? The WMA's lost its funding while the Ministry investigates it for corporate embezzlement."

"Of course I heard that, and it's scary, but—"

"But don't you see _why_?"

"_Yes_," Lily said. "But it's not like that's actually got anything to do with Kristina Arshevik or—or that Prince bloke—"

"It's got everything to do with her! She was their secretary of the treasury, she probably knew everything there was to know. And what about Richard Prince? How does he fit into everything?" Alice frowned suddenly. "Actually—d'you think their records are public?"

"Probably not," Dorcas cut in. "Listen, can you two stop bickering about this Arshevik woman? I heard something interesting on the train …"

She recounted what she'd heard Avery, Snape, and the other Slytherin talking about. Lily was frowning by the end of it and chewing absently on her lip.

"You don't think—" Alice said. "There's no way—they wouldn't talk about that with the door to their compartment open, would they?"

"Of course not," Mary said. "That'd be ridiculous."

But Lily was not looking at them. "No, it wouldn't," she said quietly. "If they were so cocky they didn't—didn't think anyone would notice, or—or care." She poured herself a cup of tea, pushed her plate away. "I mean—Sev wouldn't, I don't think. But—but if he did, it wouldn't. I mean, it wouldn't be unprecedented, would it?"

"But Snape's no Death Eater," Alice said. "I mean, Avery's _evil_, but Snape's just—well, he's just unpopular, isn't he?"

"I don't know," Mary said slowly. "He's not exactly—well, he's not exactly _angelic_."

Mary was clearly thinking the same thing as Mead: Snape had simply watched when Mulciber had tried to attack her last term, and if Mary hadn't been particularly good with a Shield Spell she might have been seriously hurt.

"I think," Lily said quietly. "I think he'd do it. I mean—he's always wanted to fit in, right? And he didn't have—well, he didn't exactly have me in his house to stop him from being mates with—well, with them. And he thought—he thought it was funny. What Mulciber did to Mary. And it wasn't. And that's why—" She stopped, sighed, stood up. "Potter and I have to direct everyone to their dormitories."

"That's why what?"

"Nothing. It's not important anymore."

Alice frowned after Lily. "Lily bloody Evans," she said. "Why does she pretend all she cares about is how annoying James bloody Potter is?"

Mead snorted. "Who knows? Anyway, we'd better head upstairs, too..."

Lily entered the girls' dormitories only about a quarter of an hour after the rest of them and scanned it skeptically. "You know," she said, "I love all of you very much, but I've got my own private room now, so ..."

"Don't be ridiculous," Mary said. "You're not _leaving_ us."

"Well, it's got a bigger bed _and_ I've got my own loo, sort of, so, yeah, I am," Lily said. "Of course, you're all welcome to visit."

Mead was fairly certain she'd take her up on that, but otherwise did not mind that Lily wanted to live alone—she'd take the opportunity, too, if it had been offered to her. She'd once let a Head Boy snog her in his bed, and it had been a rather nice bed—she'd really only wanted to sleep in it, and that, she supposed, was why she hadn't stayed the night.

"Oh no, Lil," Alexandria Moore said from her bed, which was already covered in her own violet bedspread instead of the regulation scarlet one. Alexandria Moore really was shameless. "What are we going to do without you here to stop Meadowes slagging around? It's gotten sort of gross, Mead, honestly …"

"Don't start," Lily said, rolling her eyes. "We've only been back two hours."

Alexandria swept her long, blond hair over one shoulder and shrugged. "What? I just don't want to be kept up at night by the sounds of Meadowes shagging some thick bloke."

"What are you on about?" Mead said, frowning; she tended to keep out of their dormitory when she slept with blokes, mostly out of respect but also partially out of some desire for privacy, which nobody was ever going to get _here_, not with Natalie Spinnet—and. Oh.

Mead rounded on Natalie, who had been silently unpacking up until that point. "Spinnet. How did you know what I'd been doing?"

"Or _who_," Moore muttered.

"I mean, you looked more than a little—well, disheveled," Natalie said, shrugging. "It's not—well, it's not my fault, is it?"

"Of course it's your fault," Mead said, fuming. "How was it any of your business what I was doing or who I'd been doing it with—"

"It's not a big deal," Alexandria said. "I'm only saying—keep your slagging out of this dormitory."

"Says _you_," Mead said. "Aren't you the one who, in third year—_third year_—kept us all up every night—"

"I'm going upstairs," Lily interrupted loudly. "Moore, stop being a bitch. Mead, stop letting her provoke you." She departed again, through a door Mead had never noticed before and thought might have only recently been put there for Lily's use.

"Anyway, Ollie Caldwell can surely do better than _you_," Moore said.

"Oh," Mead said. "_That's_ what this is about. What, have you shagged him before? Thought he loved you? Well, he doesn't, and I can tell you that for sure because today he—"

"That's enough," Alice said. "Honestly."

Moore glared at Mead, but shut up and practically skipped over to Natalie's bed, where the two started to gossip in low voices. Mead pulled a chair up to the window and pushed it open, stole a cigarette out of the bag Lily had left on her old bed, and lit it, letting her hand hang out the window as she smoked it.

"Disgusting," Alice said.

"All the smoke's going outside," Mead said shortly, and Alice relented.

It was nearly silent when Lily returned, the only sounds those of Alice turning the pages in her book and Alexandra and Natalie's occasional giggles.

"Yeah," Lily said. "I can see why I'd love to keep living here. Atmosphere's unbeatable."

Mead glared at her, but Lily only grinned in response. "Anyway, I'm off to see Doc," she said.

"See you in the morning," Mead said, grinning lecherously, and Lily blushed a little.

"Whatever," she said. "No you won't."

Mead laughed, and to be honest, she _was_ going to miss Lily, but that—having to see her slip into the dormitory every night, or being acutely aware when she wasn't in her bed—Mead would certainly _not_ miss that.

* * *

Sirius had left the feast early to unpack before Remus and Peter got back, but he hadn't managed to avoid Eddie Vance.

"What are you doing back here already?" Sirius asked suspiciously, looking around to see if there were any birds in the room. But Vance wouldn't—nah, Vance was too good a bloke to make her hide just because Sirius walked in. If anything, _he'd_ be the one to hide.

"I got sick on the train," Eddie said sheepishly. "Too many chocolate frogs and pumpkin pasties..."

"So you skipped the feast?"

"Yeah, I've been up here listening to music all evening."

"Sounds relaxing."

"It is."

Silence fell between them again as Sirius opened his trunk, looking sadly at the broom he wouldn't be using nearly as much that year, having been kicked off the Quidditch team as part of his punishment for—well, for _it_. He pulled it out anyway, tucked in the corner between his wardrobe and his desk, and looked over at Eddie.

"Looking forward to Quidditch this year?"

"No," Eddie said shortly. "We need a new Beater, and we know from last year when we tried to find a reserve that there _isn't_ one."

"Sure there is—there was that one big bloke, Martin whatsit, remember?"

"Yeah, he could barely get off the ground he was so bad at flying. Why'd you have to get yourself kicked off the team, honestly, Black, we were so _good_ together …"

"Love you too, Vance," Sirius said, grinning despite himself.

Eddie rolled his eyes. "You know that's not what I meant … although ..." He winked, and Sirius laughed.

"Listen," Sirius said, pulling sets of robes out of his drunk and hanging them up in a very un-Sirius-like manner. "I'm not—I mean, James and everyone are still a bit miffed at me, so—I'm not going to be around the dormitory as much."

"I figured as much," Eddie said, shrugging, "when you came up here so early. Still not going to tell me what it's all about, then?"

"Not unless they tell you," Sirius said. "Which they probably won't, so I suppose you're out of luck."

"Ah, well. Suppose I'm better off that way."

"Suppose you are."

"Did you see Ted Jones's misplaced Bludger last weekend?" Eddie asked. "Honestly, one of us could replace him in a heartbeat."

"He's decent, though," Sirius said, frowning. "He did well against Cyprus last month … and let's face it, the Slytherin Quidditch team aren't exactly world class competition."

"Still, that was so terribly wrong—not even bloody Crabbe would've made that mistake, and he's about as thick as the Draught of Living Death."

"Well, everyone makes mistakes," Sirius said, shrugging. "Even nationally-capped Quidditch players."

"I suppose." Eddie was watching him, frowning slightly. "You're hanging your robes. You never do that."

"Thought I might turn a new leaf. Look neat and clean instead of a dirty wrinkled mess all the time."

"Right."

"Exactly." Sirius grinned at Eddie, waved his wand so the rest of his shirts would fly into his wardrobe, and settled back into his bed. He'd missed the dormitory, with its four poster and—if he was being honest—human company. He wondered what he'd do after school, if he'd find a flatmate or just go on living alone like some sort of hermit …

He thought his mates might come up to their rooms by ten, and so departed well over an hour before that, deciding to wander the corridors he hadn't seen in months instead of attempting to socialize with fellow Gryffindors in the common room. He managed to avoid Filch, Mrs. Norris, and a couple of patrolling prefects, all without the assistance of James's cloak or the Marauder's Map, and took pride in the fact.

Still—there wasn't much to do around the castle at night if you weren't with your mates, and so eventually Sirius returned to a still partially-full common room, though thankfully one that was without the Marauders and with Alexandria Moore, who looked vaguely upset and whom he sat beside and started babbling about some inane news story he'd heard on Eddie's wireless. Alexandria Moore cheered up eventually, started babbling about some celebrity or other, all while Sirius grinned beside her. She seemed to sort of expect him to follow her up to bed, but he gave her shoulder a squeeze, winked, said he needed his beauty sleep, and let her depart with her mate, Natalie.

Presently, he was alone in the common room, just him and the fire burning before him, leaning forward in his seat with his head buried in his hands as he tried not to think about—well, about anything, really. He was sort of glad James had his own room this year, but there was still Peter and the betrayed looks he kept shooting Sirius's way, thinking Sirius didn't see him. Worse, there was Remus and his continued insistence that Sirius didn't exist. Eddie would probably look over at them curiously, knowing—like most of the school did—that Sirius and the rest of the Marauders weren't exactly on speaking terms, but most likely deigning not to ask. Vance was a good bloke like that.

Sirius didn't want to sleep on the couch in the common room—he'd done it before and it had left him sore and cramped for a week after, and not even James's ridiculous Quidditch practice yoga had relieved him—and so he was sitting up, awake, until the common room was empty and the fire burning low.

He glanced at his watch. Nearly midnight: Remus and Peter would be asleep soon enough, and then he could climb the stairs to his dormitory, set an alarm, and hopefully be at breakfast before either of them woke up.

For the time being, however, he stretched his legs forward onto the table and leaned into the couch, watching the ceiling with vague interest. He was already tired of the school year; part of him wanted to leave Hogwarts. He was a good enough wizard, after all, and it wasn't like he was after some Ministry job that would require a specific amount of N.E.W.T.s. Perhaps he could take over for Tom at the Leaky Cauldron, or better yet open a pub in Hogsmeade and compete with the Three Broomsticks …

He had half a mind to go and repack his things, but just then the portrait swung open and a figure stumbled in. It was not until she moved forward into the remaining firelight that Sirius realized it was Lily Evans, returning, undoubtedly, from some terribly dull prefect duties. But no, he thought, noticing the very disheveled state of her hair and clothing, as well as the flush rising in her cheeks; that was not it at all.

He grinned, probably a little lecherously. "Evans!" he said delightedly.

She started a bit, clearly expecting the common room to be empty. "Black? What are you doing still up?"

"It's barely midnight."

She frowned. "Oh. Why aren't you up in your dormitory, at least?"

"Why aren't _you_?"

"I'll have you know I was—"

"Spare me the details, Evans … actually, they might be sort of interesting. Tell me, what's Caradoc Dearborn like in bed?"

"I was _not_ in bed with Caradoc Dearborn! I was—well, I was patrolling hallways … you know, as I'm Head Girl, I have to make sure the rules are strictly adhered to!"

"Oh, I'm sure he adhered very strictly to your rules," Sirius said, snickering, and Lily relented and laughed as well before—in a swift and entirely unexpected motion—moving forward, seizing him around the waist, and holding on quite tightly for a moment for the second time that day.

"What are you doing?"

"You're warm and cuddly."

"You should stop pitying me."

"I'm not. In fact, to be frank, I don't really care how you're feeling right now."

"Don't you?"

"I discovered from Alexandria that you give truly spectacular hugs and I felt I rather needed one."

"Ah."

"Indeed."

"Alexandria's talking about me, is she?"

"Nope, we're talking about me now," Lily said, "and my deep and abiding love for your hugs."

"Don't let James hear you say that."

"He's not my boyfriend, whom I might actually not let hear me say that." She sat down on the couch next to him and pulled out a cigarette.

"You know," Sirius said, frowning. "You're right. He _isn't_ your boyfriend …"

A thought struck him: Lily Evans was beautiful, and she'd been kind to him through all of this, and there were several inches of skin between the tops of her knee highs and the bottom of her skirt and her legs were spectacular, and she was clever and funny and understood family better than anyone else he knew, and if the rumors were true she'd be single before long …

But when she looked up at him, he remembered the feel of James Potter's arms holding him to reality the night he'd left home and really, even if this Lily and James thing turned out to be nothing (which he didn't really think it would—Lily was running a hand through her hair now, and really, they were perfect for each other), he could never do that to his best mate, even if they weren't best mates anymore. And anyway, he thought as Lily opened a book that seemed to materialize out of nowhere, she really wasn't quite his type …

"Are you just going to sit here smoking all night?" he asked instead.

"Alexandria and Mead have been fighting all evening, and Alice made me promise to sleep in the girls' dormitory and not my private room tonight because she misses Frank or some lark … so, probably."

"I think you're just looking for an excuse to hang out with me."

"I can read to you if you'd like," she responded, not looking away from her book.

"What book is it?"

"The potions text."

"Classes haven't even started yet."

"I'm preparing."

"You're unbelievable."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

"I'll take it as one anyway."

"Blimey."

"What?"

"Nothing," Sirius said, but he was already half-imagining the Potter-Evans wedding. It'd be small, he thought, because James didn't have much family and Lily didn't seem the type to make much of a fuss, and then he had to stop visualizing it because he'd always sort of thought he and James would be each other's best men if they did ever get married which hadn't ever really been likely because he'd always sort of hoped he and James would travel the world, flirting with Brazilian and Cambodian and South African birds and never having to book a hotel room until their old age, and—

"I'm going out for another cigarette," Lily announced, closing her book with a thud. "Want to come?"

But it had grown too difficult now to be with Lily, too, and that was a shame, Sirius thought, and so he shook his head and tried to smile apologetically. "I'm good for now," he told her. "But you'll want a safe way to get out of the castle—"

"I'm Head Girl. I can get out just fine."

"All the same," he said. "There's a tapestry behind that ugly statue on the fifth floor …"

* * *

There were two things James Potter had not missed that day:

The first was the massive hug Lily Evans had given Sirius Black upon seeing him in the Great Hall just before the feast.

The second was the way Peter kept looking over at Sirius's bed like he expected the person who normally occupied it to be taking part in their conversation.

James Potter, usually the first person to suggest his mates stay over his house instead of going all the way back home, spent the first night of his last year at Hogwarts in his private Head Boy bedroom, glaring moodily at the ceiling and wishing very badly that Sirius Black was either less fun or less stupid.

**A/N:** Once again, this chapter's a bit shorter because it and the previous chapter used to be only one long, scattered chapter. I hope you enjoyed this—I think that's all the (important) OCs, and I hope you liked/will grow to like them! Please leave a review either way!

Many thanks to my beta, Dana, who always fixes quotation marks for me when they go the wrong way.

I feel sad every time I remember that nearly every character in this fic dies within the next four years.


	7. The Apology

Whatever they said to one another, the first time Lily Evans and Caradoc Dearborn broke up, it was because Severus Snape had been a complete wreck over the fact that Lily was in a seemingly happy relationship and neither Lily nor Caradoc could deal with the implications of jealous Severus Snape out to destroy them.

And whatever they said, the second time Lily and Caradoc broke up, it was because Caradoc was very clearly in love with Dorcas Meadowes and Lily was very clearly unhappy with that situation.

They told each other the truth the third time, when Lily and Caradoc broke up because Caradoc was completely boring and too ambitious and also very sick of dealing with James Potter's side-eye and Lily talked about herself much too much.

The day they broke up for the fourth time, it rained all afternoon, great plump raindrops that splattered almost painfully against students' skin as they made their ways to the greenhouses or out by the Forbidden Forest for Care of Magical Creatures, raindrops that resisted the Impervius Charm as if they'd been engineered by an especially clever wizard, raindrops that banged against the windows and turned the skies and enchanted ceiling stormy grey.

But this was not an expression of Lily's internal turmoil; it just tended to rain a lot in Britain.

At least, she convinced herself of this as she slipped out of the castle during her free period and found herself almost immediately drenched. She wandered the grounds aimlessly until she'd reached her absolute favorite place to smoke alone: the Quidditch pitch.

She found shelter near one of the shacks she assumed brooms or other Quidditch supplies were kept in and ducked underneath its extended roof to light her first cigarette. It took too long for her dad's old lighter to ignite the paper in the wind and rain, but she kept at it, because there was a sort of pleasure in doing it the proper way, the _Muggle_ way, without magic, the way her dad had done it.

Lily could not quite place why she felt so awful. She'd always known she and Doc would never last—he was too fixated on his career, she too fixated on herself. His brand of love revolved more around adoration, hers on passion. And love was something she'd been trying to avoid for years, anyway … ever since she'd realized that Severus fancied her, she had pushed away any feelings of love that had ever threatened to disrupt her delicate front of cool apathy where her interpersonal relationships were concerned.

There had been David Weston, her first kiss and the boy who'd first told her he loved her the summer after third year, when she and Sev were still best friends. David had showed up to her house the next day with a massively swollen face, saying he thought he'd had an allergic reaction to a bug bite, but Lily had known better and had immediately broken up with him as a result. Severus didn't look her in the eye for at least a week after, even when they'd snuck into Diagon Alley through his fireplace and he'd excitedly showed her the new books Flourish and Blotts had ordered.

And then there was Anthony Zhang, who'd snogged her in the dungeons their first patrol together in fifth year and spent every Wednesday evening thereafter convincing her to skive off patrols, at least for a bit, and cuddle in the corner of a deserted corridor. But they'd gotten much too close, too quickly, and Lily had felt uncomfortable about it the entire time, until she'd finally told him they were through and appealed to the Head Boy to get her shift changed. Anthony hadn't ever forgiven her, and, strangely, neither had Severus.

And now there was Caradoc, who was lovely and sweet and ambitious but who hated it when Lily won arguments and who smoked wizards even as he mumbled that he'd quit and did not have the attention span or the emotional capacity for a relationship with someone as flaky and generally crazy as Lily.

But she _had_ loved him, or at least, she had liked him very much, and his company was _nice_. He had a nice smile, and he was clever, and he cared about the things that were important, and his arm around her waist or her shoulders made her feel … nice.

She put out her cigarette butt angrily and vanished it before violently shoving another in her mouth and lighting it. She relaxed on the first inhale, but crushed the now empty pack in her hand as if it had personally victimized her. She did _not_ miss Caradoc, because they were _not_ good together, and there were so many things wrong with him … or at least, there were so many things wrong with them together …

She knew this, and yet her face was not damp solely from the rain falling around her. She sucked in a lungful of smoke and wiped angrily at her eyes. She was not upset about Doc. She was _not_. This was inevitable. This was _right_.

But the fact was, she thought, sliding to the ground against the wall of the shed and swearing as the rain put her cigarette out, that she and Caradoc had been, if nothing else, companions for one another. They'd even had a common goal, though Doc's was slightly better defined—help people, save the wizarding world. They were not so incompatible, or at least, they didn't have to be …

It was just—Caradoc Dearborn was the stale smoke mingled with cold air that you breathed in sometimes if you smoked outside in the winter. The way the smoke sort of settled, heavy, on your lungs, like a blanket, sort of, a warm one, a comforting one. And—it was hard to give up blankets, just like it was hard to give up cigarettes and just like it had been hard to give up Doc.

Lily fiddled with her wand, trying to remember the incantation for the charm that would dry off her cigarette. In the end, she gave up and through the soggy fag as far as she could, watching as it soared in the wind to some distant part of the pitch.

In a sudden fit of anger, she banged her fist against the soft, damp ground, but it did not feel nearly as satisfying as it probably should have.

* * *

Dorcas Meadowes was not a tart.

It was true that it didn't exactly take much to get into her pants, and it was true that her biggest argument in the past week had been with a bird who'd accused her of being a slag when the other bird was in fact the bigger slag, but Dorcas Meadowes was not a tart. She liked a good conversation before she let a bloke kiss her, and she spent more late nights in the library than she did snogging in the Astronomy Tower. She was fairly progressive as far as politics went, and was mostly quite confident about her body. She was often in some various state of undress, and truly hated wearing shirts, but she rather thought everyone had seen her without pants on enough times since first year that the image had never been a sexual one at all.

It was just this:

Sometimes it got too cold being in her bed alone, and the sounds of her roommates snoring were too loud to have to face without the familiar heaviness of a bloke muffling them. And if Alexandria Moore thought that made her a tart, then Alexandria Moore was an idiot who didn't deserve Ollie Caldwell anyway, bellend though he was.

Mead blew a stray curl out of her face, turning the next page in her book. She was poring over a Transfiguration essay that wasn't due in another week, but Mead hated writing essays (having done so poorly in the written parts of her O.W.L.s that McGonagall had called her partially illiterate before perusing her impeccable practical scores in a career consultation the previous year) and had learned long ago that the best way to get over something she hated was to do it as soon as possible. Then she could move on to the more practical—and therefore more interesting—bits of magic, and though she yearned to take her wand and turn the table into an elephant, she instead set it aside and dipped her quill in ink. Ollie was sitting a few tables away with Rob Walcott, and he caught her eye and winked at her just as she wrote her name across the top of her roll of parchment. She smiled weakly back, though she was distracted by Walcott, who had a book open in front of him. She hadn't been aware that he was literate until that moment, though now that she thought about it, it _did_ make sense. He was, after all, a prefect, perhaps because no one else in Hufflepuff House would ever be bothered to so much as acknowledge the existence of a rulebook, let alone read it. She supposed that meant he had to know how to read. Still.

"Mead!"

It was another prefect who called her name, this time in the form of Doc, who was entering the library with a bulging bag of books slung over his shoulder. He slid into the seat across from her, carefully rearranged a stray lock of hair into its position in his stiff pompadour, and made to take something out of his bag.

"Doc," Mead said, grinning and setting down her quill somewhat gratefully. "How've you been? I feel like we haven't talked in _ages_."

"That's because we haven't," Doc replied. "Our schedules clash."

"Don't be stupid, we're in practically all the same classes," Dorcas said, rolling her eyes. "You've just been too busy for me."

"Nah, you've been too busy for me. We haven't hung out just us since spring."

"How've you been?"

Mead shrugged. "I dunno. I suppose—I dunno. I think—" She frowned, stopped talking. "No, I've been fine. Stressed, obviously, but then, who isn't?"

"Alice Kennedy, probably."

"Was that a joke?"

"A poor one," Doc admitted.

"You smell like cigarette smoke."

"Yeah, that's an occasional side effect of smoking."

"I thought you'd quit."

"I have," he replied. "I'm a purely social smoker now."

"Yeah? Who've you been smoking with?"

"There's this really friendly centaur that always comes out and waxes poetic about the planets when I'm near that big tree next to the lake."

"You're ridiculous."

"Yeah." Doc flashed her a grin. "What are you working on?"

"That awful essay McGonagall assigned."

"On inanimate to animate object Transfiguration? It's sort of fascinating if you ask me."

"Well, we can't all be as swotty as you."

Doc rolled his eyes in a disturbingly Lily-ish manner. Mead looked away, dipped her quill in ink again.

"I've got to—" she began, but Caradoc was frowning. "What?"

"My brother sent me a letter asking if I'd be able to work at the Ministry on weekends," he said. "Apparently the Auror office is all backed up."

"Really? On weekends? And you'd get permission to do that?"

"Yeah, I don't reckon it'd be too hard. After all," he added, smiling a little ruefully, "it's not like I've got _Head Boy_ duties to tend to..."

"You're not still on about that, are you? I keep telling you—Potter only got it because he's the only one who can control Sirius Black."

"I suppose," Doc said, though he still pouted a little.

"D'you know why they want to have you back? Just—the same sort of duties or whatever?"

"I think they just need a few more eyes reading paperwork and a few more hands making coffee, to be honest," Doc said. "With the Prince and Arshevik thing—"

"I thought the Ministry'd suspended its investigation?"

"Well, yeah, _officially_," Doc said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "But Alastor Moody reckons there's something important about it, so he's still—"

"So Alice is right?"

"What?"

"Alice—she's obsessed with the whole case."

"Of course she is," Doc said, snorting. "Alice bloody Kennedy … should be a detective, that one. She'd be brill."

"She's got to graduate first," Mead said.

Doc did not reply; instead, he pulled a textbook out of his bag, opened it, frowned, took out a roll of parchment and a pot of ink and a long, deep blue quill—Mead was fairly certain she'd seen it before, though she couldn't say where—and stared at the cover of his book for a full minute without opening it.

"You seem eager to work."

"I'm always eager to work."

"Going to write your essay based on only the information you can get off the cover, then?"

"If you must know, I've learned to see _through_ the covers of books. It's very advanced magic."

"Does it work with clothing, too?" Mead said, and then realized what she'd implied when Doc raised an eyebrow.

"Naturally," he said. "For example—" and he looked, Mead noticed gratefully, not at her but at a random Hufflepuff at the table beside them. "That bloke over there is wearing very short pink pants underneath his trousers. They've got images of ladies' shoes printed on them."

Mead laughed. "That's stupid."

"Tell _him_ that."

Doc returned to his book, then, opening it at last. He flipped to a seemingly random page, huffed a bit, and stared at the text on it as if it were written in another language. It was strange—Mead had never seen Doc so distracted in the face of an important homework assignment before. Typically _he_ was the one convincing _her_ to stop bewitching her quill to flutter about and get to work, but now he was staring blankly at the page before him and not speaking.

Mead sighed. She did not want to talk about what she knew Doc had to talk about, because Lily was her mate too, and not just her mate, one of her _best_ mates, and this was going to be difficult because both of them had drawn it out too long and they were so _stupid_.

"What's wrong, Doc?"

"You know what's wrong."

"Lily." It was not a question.

Doc shrugged. "Course."

Mead sighed, but Doc _was_ her best mate. "What is it?"

"I s'pose—I love Lily," he said, his voice very flat. "I _do_. It's just—it's so _hard_, you know? Like, whenever we break up and get back together it's all simple and lovely for a bit, but then after that we just can't seem to stand each other."

Dorcas pushed her hair out of her face. "That's not exactly healthy, Doc."

"I _know_," he moaned, putting his head in his hands. The librarian shot them another dirty look, and Caradoc lowered his voice. "I know that, Mead, I'm not _stupid_, but it's just so—she's so—so—"

"Safe?"

"Exactly! I know how to make her laugh, and I know when she's had enough to drink, and I know what she likes in bed, and it's just so much easier than finding someone else, someone—someone better, someone whose company I could actually enjoy for a sustained period of time …"

Mead rolled her eyes. Ollie Caldwell caught her eye again just as she did this, but this time he didn't wink, only held eye contact for a bit. Perhaps he fancied her. That would be unfortunate.

"Well, I—" Mead spotted Doc's quill again as he clutched it between his index and middle fingers and remembered with a jolt that Lily had bought it for him—at her suggestion—as part of a birthday or anniversary or Christmas or Valentine's gift the year before. Caldwell had looked away, though Walcott was still staring, fascinated, at the book before him. Perhaps he really couldn't read. "Well, I'm just sorry I got you into this mess."

"What d'you mean?" Doc asked, lifting his head.

"You really don't remember? I set you two up!"

Caradoc stared at her for a long time before slamming his head back against the table. He released the quill this time, but his pot of ink fell over and spilled, staining the table and Doc's Transfiguration book dark blue. "Shit, Mead, I don't even remember how Lils and I even got together!"

"I don't understand why you're so upset about not liking her when you've _already broken up_ …"

"Because I _do_ like her!"

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do! We get on well enough, most of the time, and I like the way she smells, sort of, and she always tastes good—sorry, is this too much information?" Mead nodded, but Doc continued nonetheless: "And she always bites my shoulder like she's holding back and it's just—something draws me to her, you know?"

"You're literally writing your own obituary here, Doc."

"Writing my own obituary? Is that a thing people say?"

"I dunno," Mead said, shrugging. "Just—listen. Go and talk to Lily if this is bothering you so much. She'll probably be feeling the same. It's just withdrawal from one another since you've been together for so long."

"I suppose you're right," Doc said, sighing, and as he waved his wand to clear away the spilled ink, Mead already knew the couple would be reunited within the week.

Caldwell was staring at her again, and she thought that perhaps it was about time she paid a visit to the Hufflepuff boys' dormitories.

* * *

"Finally," Lily said, waving a bit of parchment around. "Sign-ups for patrols are on this table, so please choose a night before you leave."

She set the parchment down on the table in front of her, pushing forward a quill and bottle of ink.

"Enjoy the rest of the week," James said. "Oh, and remember, Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts are on October sixth—that's in two weeks, so if you know anyone who—"

He fell silent at the scathing look Lily shot him. There was a faint chuckle amongst the prefects, who had started to move toward the front of the room to sign up for a night of the week.

"Not bad for an irresponsible prat, eh?" James muttered to Lily as nearly everyone left the room and the clamor died down. She'd taken off her robes and was in only her skirt and blouse now, and he'd forgotten just how nice her legs were, somehow.

"You only said about two words the whole time," Lily responded, blowing some hair out of her face and bending to gather up her books. James did the best he could not to stare at her arse. Lily was—well, she was really _fit_, was the thing. "And one of them was Quidditch."

"Er—Lily?"

James looked up; nearly everyone was gone now, but Snape had lingered and was now looking—surprisingly timidly—at Lily.

"What is it?" Lily said, not looking up from her book-gathering and yet very clearly not directing this at James.

"I just—could we talk?"

"No, I don't think so," she replied coolly.

"But—Lily—"

Lily shoved the last of her books into her bag and moved on to the patrol sign-up sheets, waving her wand over them, presumably to dry the ink. James turned away and pretended to fill out some forms.

"Lily," Snape said again. "Don't ignore me."

"I don't want to hear it, Sev," Lily said.

"But Lily—we were—we were _mates_."

"We're not anymore."

"Look, just because you're a Mud—I mean, it doesn't mean we can't be friends."

It took a moment for Snape's words to register in James's head, but when they did, he rounded upon the two.

"How _dare_ you speak to Evans?" he snarled. "How dare you even pretend to be her friend? I was _there_ when you called her a—the _m-word,_ you great wanker—"

"You know nothing," Snape hissed, and Lily was glaring at both of them.

"Potter, I don't need you to protect me from my own friends—"

"He's _not_ your friend, Evans—"

But Snape was no longer looking at James; instead, his face was turned toward Lily, mouth half open in an expression that betrayed something strangely like hope. It was sort of disgusting to see his face twisted like that, at the same time as it was pitiful. James wondered if that was how he looked every time he asked Lily to go out with him, and decided that even at his ugliest he was rather better looking than Severus Snape.

"Oh, piss off, Sev, we aren't friends," Lily said, her sneer making her face almost ugly.

And Snape's face fell once more. He swung his bag over his shoulder with as much dignity as he could seemingly muster, and though he did leave the room, James saw him look back several times. Lily did not look up from the forms _she_ was now pretending to fill out.

"I don't know why you put up with him," James said. "Honestly, he's a right greasy prick and probably evil to boot, _and_ he always calls you the m-word."

Lily did not look up. James took this as liberty to continue.

"You could do so much better—you _have_ done so much better," he said. "All your other mates are great, I don't know why you keep pretending Snape's worth your time—"

"As if you're any better."

"What? I'd never—Evans, I don't even _see_ blood status, it's Snivellus that's—"

"Stop pretending you know a single thing about my life," Lily said, her voice perfectly even. She put her quill in her bag and shoved the forms into a file cabinet.

"But I _do_—the whole school knows—"

"No. I meant stop pretending you know a single thing about what it's like to be called a Mudblood."

"I wasn't, I was just saying—"

"You were saying that it must be awful to have two Muggles as parents, to grow up with microwaves and football instead of wands and Quidditch. _That's_ what you were saying. Well, d'you know what, Potter? It _wasn't_!"

"No, I was saying it must be awful to have your best mate call you the m-word!"

"Really, the m-word? You can't say it? Mudblood, Mudblood, Mudblood! That's what I am, Potter, and you don't know a _thing_ about it, so stop pretending to be all sympathetic—"

"I _am_ sympathetic—"

"Or that the word Mudblood can possibly hurt you as much as it's hurt me, because when _you_ inevitably get bored of taking Bludgers to the head and need a real job, you can just say your name and you'll _get_ one—"

"How is that my fault—"

"And when _I_ try to get one, I will be so scrutinized that the tiniest of blemishes could send me into poverty. Because if I don't get a job, it doesn't mean I'm bored for a bit and have to find a way to entertain myself, it _does_ mean poverty, Potter, I haven't got parents with a bottomless bank account—"

"Again, having money isn't my fault, nor is it a bad—"

"Not to mention," Lily added, her voice now dangerously low in a way James had never heard before. "My _best mate_ wasn't allowed to be seen talking to me because of my parentage, and now he is probably working with a group of people who would like nothing more than to see me and my kind slaughtered. So _don't_ try to tell me you don't see blood status, because it's _all_ I can see, and _don't_ feel bad for me for being a Mudblood, you awful, entitled prick!"

James's mouth dropped open in shock as Lily, too, slung her bag over her shoulder and marched out, though with none of the self-doubt that Snape's gait had betrayed.

"Honestly," he told Remus upon his return to the Gryffindor common room (where, luckily, Lily was nowhere to be seen). "Birds are _mental_. Every last one of them is _mad_."

"Emma's not so bad," Remus said, turning a page of the book he was reading and not looking up.

James wanted to shout at him to pay attention, but instead he pulled his most-recently nicked Snitch out of his pocket. "Yeah, well, you've got the only sane one, then." He let the Snitch escape his grasp; it was new enough that it got fairly far before he snatched it back out of the air. He watched it struggle in his hands, its wings beating uselessly against his knuckles. "Quidditch tryouts are soon."

"Mm."

"Moony!"

"What?"

"You're not paying attention!"

Remus set down his book and sighed. "I'm sorry. It's nearly full moon and I'm _hungry_."

"Let's go to dinner," James suggested.

Remus shook his head, gesturing to the Marauders' Map on the couch between them. "Your bird is down there," he said. "Assuming you were talking about Lily Evans?"

"Of course," James said, both in response to Remus's question and in indignation at the absurdity of it all.

"Kitchens?" Remus suggested hopefully.

"Where's Wormtail?" James said, the Snitch evading his grasp once more as he glanced at the Map. He let it whiz around their heads, running a hand through his hair and frowning at Remus before recapturing it.

"Detention," Remus responded.

"What, already? We haven't even done anything yet."

"Apparently someone's been stealing Snitches from the Slytherins," Remus said dryly. "And poor Peter received the blame for it … seems he was caught playing with one."

James instantly felt very guilty: he'd given Peter one of his nicked Snitches only two days before, thinking it might keep him entertained (because being without Sirius seemed to bother Peter almost more than it bothered James and Remus).

"I should confess to that," James said, running a hand through his hair again.

Remus rolled his eyes. "Let's tell the house elves to make us steak."

"Raw and bloody, just the way you like it."

"Won't even have to cook it much."

James laughed, clapping Remus on the back as he stood. "I love some self-deprecating furry little problem humor," he said.

"It's not humor or self-deprecating if I'm really craving raw meat," Remus said.

"Disgusting."

"I want to hear the cow mooing while I eat it."

"Ah, mate … you've gone too far."

"I want to smell its manure …"

James snorted. Remus smiled a little. It was, James thought hopefully, all going to be all right.

* * *

"We should forgive Sirius," Remus said when they'd finished their main course (it was indeed steak, bloody for Remus and just a little pink for James).

"What?" James yelped through a mouthful of bread.

"Disgusting," Remus said, patting his mouth with a napkin daintily.

James chewed, swallowed, and yelped, "What?" again.

Remus rolled his eyes: For someone so clever, James really didn't understand the intricacies of relationships any more than he understood basic table manners.

"No, listen," Remus said. "It's—you're hardly likable as is, Prongs, wouldn't want you to lose _all_ your friends."

"My name is James," James said, almost automatically, but Remus knew better: James had called Peter by his nickname only a quarter of an hour before, and their nicknames kept slipping out whenever he wasn't feeling especially guarded.

But James sighed then, ran a hand through his hair—a _dirty_ hand, Remus noted, seeing the breadcrumbs now sitting atop James's head. He shook himself off like a dog, and Remus rolled his eyes.

"D'you know," James said, and then was silent for a minute. "D'you know what," he said again. "I think you're probably right."

"You do?"

"It's just—I don't _really_ understand, you know?"

"What?"

"Evans said—well, she said a lot of things, mainly that I was an awful entitled prick—"

"That you are, mate," Remus said, patting him on the shoulder in a way that he hoped was comforting.

"But she also said I didn't—that I couldn't ever really understand her, you know? Not—not what it's like to be a Muggle-born, or—or grow up without money, or … I dunno." He stopped, ran a hand through his hair again. The remaining bread crumbs fell onto his shoulders. "It made me think—I mean, I suppose I _don't_ really understand anything."

And he didn't, Remus thought—James did not understand being a Muggle-born, or being poor, or growing up with bigoted abusive parents, or being a werewolf, and as much as James might want to relate and empathize, he would never be able to because he would _never_ really get it. And James tried, really, he did, tried all the time—because what was becoming an Animagus if it wasn't trying? And what was letting Sirius practically live with him all those summers?

But James—and this wasn't even really his fault, was the awful part, was the only reason Remus still let him rant about Lily Evans from time to time—James would never understand what it was like to have your parents kick you out of your home or have your father leave your mother because being magical was bad enough and bearing a child who would become a wolf once a month was just too much to handle. James was good-looking and clever and rich and good at Quidditch, and he had the power to command the attention of a room full of people without even trying. James's parents were kind and had spoiled the shit out of him. James's awful haircut had kicked off a trend of boys wearing their hair messy in third year (closely followed, of course, by them growing it out so it was long and shaggy like Sirius's. Thirteen year olds were an impressionable sort).

"No," Remus agreed. "You don't really understand anything."

"But I want to! I _try_ to, honestly, Moon—Remus, I do!"

"I know," Remus said gently. James Potter had become an Animagus when he was fourteen to make his best friend feel less alone. "But you can't."

James sighed heavily, staring at the dessert the house elves were setting out in front of them glumly. "You miss him," he said.

"Of course I miss him," Remus said, because he _did_—he'd been ridiculously and unbearably lonely all summer until he'd met Emma, and when he wasn't lonely he was bored, because Peter was great but he lacked the dry wit and ironic unfunniness of Sirius Black, and James was lovely but he wasn't going to be the one to bring a bottle of firewhiskey to his St. Mungo's room after a full moon, smirk, and ask him if he'd managed to shag any of the hot nurses yet.

"But do you forgive him?"

"What?"

"I mean—he almost _killed_ Snape. And he used you to do it. And I mean—it's all on you, isn't it?" James said. "It doesn't—it doesn't matter what Peter and I think, really. It—what Sirius did, he did to you. It felt like he did it to all of us, but it was to you most."

And that was—it was like Peter had said, before, that it was all up to him, that it was his choice because he'd been the one who'd been most directly wronged by Sirius's actions. And Remus—he didn't think he forgave Sirius, entirely, but Sirius had been very deliberately sleeping very few hours so as to avoid all of them, and he'd been sitting alone all year in all their classes even though he could have sat with anyone, and there was something in the way Sirius's chin ducked against his chest every time he had to walk by Remus that made Remus feel—well, guilty. And he knew he had nothing to feel guilty for, but he thought the feeling might come from a place of, if not forgiving Sirius, at least missing him.

"I don't know," Remus said honestly. "I don't—I don't think I can ever really forget about it, or joke about it, but—he's our best friend."

"He doesn't have to be."

"But he _is_."

James sighed, looked at his treacle tart, frowned.

"Let's go find him," he said finally. "Do you have—?"

But the Marauder's Map was already back in Remus's hand: there was Peter, in the trophy cabinet, and Lily Evans in the Great Hall with all her mates, and there was Sirius Black sitting beside Alexandria Moore and Natalie Spinnet and Eddie Vance, undoubtedly bored with the conversation.

"Lily Evans is sitting a few seats down," Remus pointed out.

"I don't—it doesn't matter," James said. "She's—irrelevant."

Remus very much doubted this was the case, but he and James thanked the house elves for their hospitality and walked down to the Great Hall after all.

There was an empty seat beside Sirius, and Eddie Vance saw them coming and budged over on the bench so they could sit (seemingly knowing, in that Eddie Vance way he had, at least part of what was about to take place). James sat across from Sirius, Remus beside him.

Sirius looked shocked, opened his mouth as if to protest, started to stand, but James said, "Listen, Padfoot, Moony here thinks we should eliminate the Seeker from the great game of Quidditch."

There was a long pause where Sirius didn't seem to know what to say, and so Remus took pity on him. "It's just such a useless position," he said. "Either the games revolves around the Seeker and you should eliminate everyone else, or the Seeker ruins the sport and should no longer be a position."

Sirius's fork slipped out of his hand. He looked at James, who inclined his head very slightly, and then at Remus, who bumped knees with him under the table, and then, bizarrely, at Eddie Vance, who grinned at him.

"I don't," he said, and then stopped, frowned, squeezed his eyes shut, and there was a moment where Remus thought Sirius might have the audacity to reject this—but then Sirius threw an arm around Remus's shoulders and said, "Listen, Moony, you're neglecting the beauty of the game if you think it's all about the Snitch …"

And thus the fourth Marauder had been restored.

("Where's Wormtail?" Sirius asked, a little later, and Remus suddenly realized they hadn't even consulted with him about this.

"Detention for nicking Snitches," James said, grinning, and Sirius laughed, and Remus forgot Peter again.)

*

"Have you seen this?" James asked, slamming a copy of the _Prophet_ onto Remus's table as Remus slotted into his seat in Slughorn's dungeon, having just missed breakfast due to particularly pleasant evening with a particularly attractive Ravenclaw. "Fucking ridiculous."

"What?" Sirius said, pushing Peter's head aside to read over Remus's shoulder.

"They want to lock up werewolves," Remus read aloud, trying to keep his voice steady and emotion-free. It sounded hollow even to his own ears. "Put them in Azkaban to transform. Force them to show people their werewolf registry papers before buying property or applying for jobs ..."

"And it's got _votes_," James snarled, sitting down angrily in the seat in front of them and setting up his cauldron next to Sirius's. "How _bollocks_ is that?"

"We have to do something," Peter said, but when they all looked at him to suggest just what this something could be, he was silent.

"I'm going to starve," Remus said. "That's what's going to happen. I'm never going to make a single penny and I'm going to spend every full moon getting molested by dementors and I'm never going to get a job and I'm going to—"

"Everyone settle down," Slughorn said in a booming voice, entering the dungeon at last. "Today we will begin working on the Calming Draught … as usual, all the ingredients you will need are in the cabinet" —he unlocked it with a flick of his wand— "and you will have the full period to brew. Good luck."

"Fitting," Remus said. "Just what I need. A _Calming Draught_. Mind, add as much extra belladonna as possible, Peter, I don't want to have to wake up and deal with all of this at the end of the year."

"Don't worry, Moony," James said as they chose sprigs of scurvy-grass for their potions. "We'd never let you starve."

"And anyway," Sirius said, taking a whiff of belladonna and wincing. "You can always be my maid. Or my whore, if you'd prefer that."

There was a split second of silence before Remus remembered to laugh and Sirius looked like he hadn't noticed and so did James, but Peter looked at him sadly and handed him some lavender.

"This isn't on the list of ingredients," Remus said.

"I saw Evans adding some and she always gets full marks, so I thought it might be helpful."

"Brill," Remus said, taking it.

"Aces," Sirius corrected.

"_Snitches_, we say Snitches now!" James said.

Remus rolled his eyes and did not correct himself, and—

And they were back.

(It took another two days for Sirius to prod him in the chest in the middle of the night and mumble, "Shove over. I can't sleep"—it sounded like "I'm sorry," sounded like, "I didn't ever want to hurt you," like "You're one of the only three people in the world I care about"—and for Remus to groan and roll over and when they woke up, Sirius's face was pressed against Remus's side, and Remus had not realized just how much he'd missed him. Sirius exhaled against his skin and Remus closed his eyes.)

**A/N:** Many thanks to my beta, Dana. Have a lovely Valentine's Day!


	8. A Temper Too Little Yielding

He cornered her after a prefect meeting, and she thought she ought to get a bodyguard for these things.

"Lily," he said. "I don't want this to—"

"I—I know."

"I just—"

"I miss you."

"I miss you, too."

"I just don't want this to not—"

"Me neither."

A pause.

Her hand rested against his neck. Her rings were cold against his skin.

Caradoc kissed Lily.

She kissed him back.

* * *

Elphias Doge was a legend.

He'd worked against Grindelwald in the war thirty years ago, and had only just retired from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He could have had any of a dozen senior positions at the Ministry of Magic—some had even been pegging him to run against Barty Crouch for Minister for Magic in the next election.

But he'd told the _Daily Prophet_ that was well out of the question, as he had no interest in politics, and anyway, who'd want a man nearing a hundred to be Minister? (This question, of course, was a ridiculous one—Albus Dumbledore had been offered the position at least once per year since his defeat of Grindelwald.) As for other high-level positions within the Ministry, well, Doge had simply not wanted them—or at least, someone had convinced him not to take them.

That someone, Alice was sure, had been Dumbledore himself. She'd heard that the two had been best mates at Hogwarts, and their friendship had not let up once they'd left. Dumbledore had needed a professor on short notice after Professor Hubbard had taken an offer to be Special Advisor to the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and Doge, apparently having gotten bored with retirement, had only been too eager to accept, even if it was only for a year.

Whatever the case, however, Alice was delighted at the prospect of learning from a man whose name she'd read hundreds of times in the _Prophet_ and whose portrait she thought might some day end up on a Chocolate Frog card, and thus sat in rapt attention at each of his classes, scribbling notes or practicing spells furiously.

If Alice was being honest, Doge was not the best of teachers; he was soft-spoken and cared little for magical theory beyond what it took to actually perform whichever spells one was attempting. He did not command the attention of the room the way McGonagall did, nor was he so charming that it was difficult to resist listening to him like Slughorn was. Nevertheless, his lectures on the best ways to defend oneself against all manner of hostile magic—wizards, creatures, spells, potions—were the most fascinating that Alice had each week, provided she sat close enough to the front to hear him and ignore the Marauders (who, naturally, spent each lecture charming anything they could find to fly around the room; once, Sirius Black had bewitched Doge's hat to float several inches above his head the entire class. Doge had not even asked them why they were all laughing).

"I need to tell you about my morning," Lily said as they stood to leave at the end of one of Doge's lectures. "You'll never believe what happened … are you coming to lunch?"

"No," Alice said. "Or—I'll be a bit late. I've got to have a word with Doge."

"Oh." Lily looked disappointed. "Well—come quick, then? I don't want to tell it twice—"

"I'm sure Mead will be perfectly able to fill me in," Alice said, realizing suddenly the tone she'd taken on and the way Lily had stepped back, just barely, just enough for Alice to notice. "I mean—yeah, I'll be quick."

"Oh," Lily said again. "Good, I'll wait."

Alice thought she could probably guess how Lily's morning had gone: as she walked away from Alice, Lily swung her bag over her shoulder before bumping her hip against Caradoc Dearborn's. Caradoc slipped an arm around her. Mead followed them out of the classroom, glancing back at Alice and frowning.

Alice shrugged as if to indicate that she had no idea what had happened, but even Mead had to have known this would happen eventually. The two didn't know how to stay away from each other.

Alice sighed. She missed _Frank_. It was ridiculous, really—she didn't think about him too often, at least not consciously, but any time she saw another couple arm in arm, all she could think about were late summer nights wrapped up in him, studying with him at the library, eating countless meals with him in the Great Hall …

"Miss Kennedy, was there something you wanted?" Doge asked once the classroom had almost entirely cleared out.

"Er—yeah," she said. "I couldn't figure out that shield spell you were showing us last class."

"The anti-fire one?" Doge asked, and Alice nodded.

"Usually I just Conjure water, but that's not going to work against waterproof fire, is it? I had Mead—er, Dorcas Meadowes—throw some at me and I nearly burned Gryffindor tower down."

Doge smiled fondly. "Ah, Gryffindor tower … I remember it well. Tell me, does the Fat Lady still get angry if you come back—er—sloshed?"

Alice wondered if that had been an entirely appropriate question from her ninety year-old professor, but laughed. "Er—a bit," she replied. "I think she's softened up over the years."

Doge's eyes misted over. "I spent some of my best years in there … casting spells, figuring out the castle's secrets … but you wanted to know how to do the spell?"

"Yeah—if you're busy now, we can schedule an appointment or something—"

"No, I've seen your spellwork, it's very good," Doge said, and Alice blushed. "I think you just need proper guidance. Show me how you've been doing it?"

Alice waved her wand, attempting and failing to extinguish the torch beside the window. "See, I can do it if I use literally _any_ water spell—" This she demonstrated "—but I can't get the shielding one to work."

"Perhaps that is because you're thinking of it as an _extinguishing_ charm, and not a shielding spell."

Alice frowned—that had indeed been what she'd been doing, but that wasn't something she'd ever experienced actually hurting her magic. Perhaps this spell was more complicated than she'd thought. Perhaps she did need more theory than Doge had been teaching.

"You see, Miss Kennedy, especially with wordless magic, the intent _matters_. Can you do the spell if you say the incantation out loud?"

"No," Alice said. "That's never been my problem anyway—it's just this one spell—"

"Well, try it again. I'm going to aim some fire at you, all right?"

This time, when Alice waved her wand, most of the fire stopped just before it reached her and hung suspended in the air for a moment before flickering out. What remained flew past her head and singed the wall behind them.

"Is that it?" she asked. "Have I just—"

"Sometimes the shield can become corporeal," Doge said. "Or you can resize it, enlarge it to fit a given area—but yes, Miss Kennedy, you've done it! That was _remarkably_ fast, you know."

Alice grinned. She'd been right—Doge _was_ a good teacher.

"You explained it well," she said. "I think I was just having some trouble with the theory."

"Yes, well, some people do need a more theory than others. At Hogwarts, I knew a man who needed merely to know the effect of a spell to perform it—the incantation was often irrelevant." Alice was fairly certain Doge was referring to Dumbledore, who she'd heard had been a natural at everything he'd ever attempted. Alice was not very surprised at this. "Practice a bit more with Miss Meadowes," Doge added. "See if you can extend the shield, protect some of the wall behind you ..."

"Thanks, Professor," she said.

But Doge had stopped listening to her and returned to his lecture notes, which made a large pile on his desk.

"Er—are you coming to lunch, sir?"

"I'll be down in a bit, Miss Kennedy," he said. "Good luck on that spell!"

Understanding at last that she had been dismissed, Alice made her way down to the Great Hall, where Lily was already mostly done with a sandwich and sitting—naturally—at the Ravenclaw table and not with Mead and Mary.

"So that's back on, then?" Alice said, sitting down across from Mead and beside Mary.

"Apparently," Mead said. "Which is terrific, really." She grinned. "Doc was complaining just _last week_ about how lonely he was, so I'm really glad that he—you know, that they got back together, and that they're happy and very much less lonely now."

She took a very large gulp of pumpkin juice, but when she'd put down her goblet, she was still grinning in a very unnatural way.

"Er," Mary said. "Is everything all right, Mead?"

"What? Oh, yeah." Mead spooned a large chunk of shepherd's pie into her mouth and almost immediately choked on it, coughing so hard that Eddie Vance turned away from his conversation with Natalie Spinnet to thump her soundly on the back until a pea flew out of her mouth.

"Thanks, Vance," Mead said gratefully.

"Just eat more carefully, yeah? Don't want to have to replace _another_ member of the team next week..."

"Don't remind me," Mead said, the grin finally fading from her face. "Potter's going _mental_." "When isn't he?" Eddie said before turning back to Natalie.

Mead groaned loudly, putting her head down beside her plate. Her mass of curly hair, however, did not manage to avoid it quite as well; at least a little part of it caught on the side of her goblet, dunking itself in the pumpkin juice. She did not seem to notice.

"This is most certainly _not_ my week," Mead said.

"Get up, Mead," Mary said. "We've got Magical Creatures, come on."

Mead groaned again, but followed Mary obediently out of the Great Hall. Alice had resigned herself to eating alone and in silence (which, she told herself, was preferable, as she could get to the library early for her free period and spend it working on the Transfiguration problems McGonagall had set them) when Lily herself sat down in front of her.

"You weren't very quick," Lily said, pouring herself tea. "What did you need from Doge?"

"Help with a spell," Alice said, but it hadn't been that, not really. She could've gotten Lily or someone to explain it to her. No—what she really wanted was to build up a relationship with Doge so she wouldn't feel odd asking him to work as a research assistant to him once he left Hogwarts. That was a bit cynical, she supposed, but Doge had shown her how to do the spell so quickly that perhaps it had been better to go to him, after all. And he'd said she was good at spellwork, which, of course, had only served to make her day a bit better.

"Well, anyway, I've been meaning to talk to you," Lily said.

"I saw you and Doc got back together. That's spectacular. I'm so happy for you."

"Thanks," Lily said, grinning and taking a sip of her tea. "It's good to be loved again." She set her teacup down and tapped her finger absently on its rim. "But I wanted to ask you—how have you been?"

"What?"

"Well, I've been really busy with Head Girl things, and I know you're taking a lot of classes—I just wanted to see how you've been."

"I've been terrific," Alice said. "Taking challenging classes is rewarding." That was sort of true, she supposed.

"I don't think wrinkles and only sleeping three hours a night is much of a reward," Lily said, frowning. "But if you say so … how's Frank? How's the long distance thing going?"

Alice looked up at Lily's earnest face, grinned, and lied: "He's great. I miss him, of course, but we write each other so often that it's like having him here."

Lily was still frowning. "I've got to go finish up that Potions essay before class," she said. "But you know, if you need someone to talk to—"

"I'm fine," Alice said. "_Really_, Lily."

Lily shrugged. "Well, if you say so," she said again.

"I do," Alice said, and she waited until Lily had already left the Great Hall to follow her out.

* * *

James Potter had been dreading the sixth of October for the entire term, but it had come and he did not want to leave his bed. He sat through Transfiguration without uttering a word except for a terse incantation when McGonagall asked him to show her he could do the spell, then stirred his potion aimlessly while Remus added all the ingredients for him when Slughorn's back was turned, and barely paid attention even in Doge's class. He didn't talk at lunch, and so Remus babbled on about football scores ("Nottingham Forest are doing surprisingly well in the Premiership, don't know what that's all about, and Arsenal, well, Arsenal are being Arsenal I suppose, and bleeding Liverpool—") and Peter ate too many sandwiches and Sirius poked glumly at his food. At dinner James did not eat, but he was tempted to spike his drink and in fact, had it not been a Quidditch night, may have retired to his room to drink alone.

But he supposed it was the very fact that it _was_ a Quidditch night that had put him in such a poor mood in the first place, and it was with this discomforting thought that he walked to the pitch that evening. It was surprisingly decent outside, air a little brisk and the last dregs of summer sun hanging in the air. There wasn't a drop of rain to be seen, and in fact the sky was barely cloudy. It was a perfect evening for flying.

There were already half a dozen students on the pitch when James got there, some of them warming up; one was doing loop-de-loops around the goal hoops, and James found him annoying by default.

"OI," he shouted. "If you're not here for Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts, _please_ get off the pitch!"

No one left, though the person flying around the goal hoops landed with a dull thud a few yards away.

"We'll wait five minutes for more people to get here and then we'll start," James said, and sure enough before the five minutes was up there were eight more students, at least two of them first years and three of them probably not even Gryffindors, lined up.

"Right," he said. "So we need a new Beater and a reserve Chaser."

And that, he thought, was probably why he'd been so dreading this—Sirius and Eddie Vance had been a spectacular defensive partnership, leaving James, Marlene O'Connell, and Mead free to create as many chances as possible—James had barely taken a single Bludger to the head all of sixth year—and looking at the candidates now, James could not see how he'd replace Sirius now that the idiot had gotten himself kicked off the team.

"This is Eddie Vance," James said, pointing at Vance, who had already mounted his broom and was hovering beside him. "He's the left-sided Beater, but he can play more centrally if need be. What we're looking for is a right-sided Beater who can balance him out. Got that?"

The candidates nodded.

"Now, _this_–" he pointed at Marlene "—is Marlene O'Connell. She's deputy captain this term and those of you trying to become reserve Chaser are going to have to impress her in addition to me."

They nodded again.

"Right, so—"

He looked around at them, caught sight of a shock of red hair by the stands, forgot what he was going to say. What was _she_ doing here?

"—So we're going to run a few drills—Eddie's going to try to knock you off your brooms. Those of you who can stay put and avoid him can move on to the next step."

Eddie glanced at him, frowning. "Is that a good idea, Potter?" he muttered.

"Don't try to hurt them," James said quietly. "Just—try and make them move. We'll know which ones can stay on their brooms, and those'll be the ones who can try out for reserve Chaser or Beater. Aim for their arms."

Eddie nodded.

"Right," James said. "On my whistle—ready—three—two—_one_!"

He blew his whistle, and the would-be Quidditch players rose into the air. One of them seemed unable to get his broom to fly, and when he finally did he simply wobbled a few feet off the ground for a bit before Eddie knocked a Bludger at him and put him out of his misery.

James glanced back at where he'd seen Lily before, and sure enough, there was a cloud of smoke near the stands through which he could see only her dark red hair. He had the sudden bizarre sensation of wanting to pull her hair—not hard, not enough to rip it, but he sort of wanted to just grab a lock and tug and see what happened. He wondered why she was here, smoking alone—she'd gotten back together with Doc Dearborn, he'd heard, not that he cared, so what reason did she have to be—

"POTTER!" Marlene shouted. "PAY ATTENTION!"

"Right," he mumbled. "Right." He looked back at the group of players still in the air; there were at least six, and he waved Eddie down.

"Holder's not bad," Eddie said. "He's been rolling around on his broom the whole time."

"Is he the one who was flying in and out of the goal hoops earlier?" James said, fairly certain he already knew the answer. "I don't like him."

"I knew you wouldn't. Egomaniac."

"I'm not a—whatever, no one cares what you think. You're my _lackey_."

"Careful, Potter, or you'll be replacing two Beaters tonight."

"I'd never let you live it down. I'd make your life _miserable_. Don't forget, I know where you sleep … I know which pajamas are your favorites …"

"All right, all right," Eddie said, laughing. "What d'you want me to do now?"

"Just hang tight for a second. Right."

James looked at the six remaining figures. One of them—Holder, it must have been—was smirking.

"Right," James said again. "Which of you are trying out for Beater?"

Holder raised his hand, and James was more than a little surprised—usually it was Seekers and Chasers who were flashy, not Beaters. So did another player, this one shorter than Sirius but more solidly built. He looked like it'd take a flock of dragons to knock him over.

"Names?" he said.

"Phillip Holder," Holder said.

"Tommy Barton," said the other.

"Right, so the other two Chasers and I are going to run a drill and you two are going to try to dispossess us," James said. "And then we'll try the same drill with one of you on the right and Eddie on the left. Got that?"

The two nodded.

Holder flew better, James observed as Mead passed Marlene the Quaffle, but it seemed like James's initial instincts had been right: he was simply too flashy. He wanted to bend the Bludger around the hoops, but Bludgers didn't work like that. He was a good flyer, a _very_ good flyer, but he wasn't defensively sound. His aim was good, but there wasn't enough power behind his balls, and he tried too hard to make the Bludger do things it couldn't. He cared more about the aesthetics of Quidditch, and James could appreciate the aesthetics of Quidditch better than most, loved the sport for it, really, but before you made your game aesthetically pleasing you had to be able to play it well. Barton was a decent flyer, and fairly menacing, and his aim was good and he was powerful. He was almost the opposite of Holder, and really, James had picked before they'd even finished the first drill.

"What d'you think?" he asked the rest of the team.

"Holder's good," Benjy Fenwick said. "But he's more—I dunno—if there was some sort of gymnastics event for Quidditch or something, he'd be the one for it."

"That's what I was thinking," James said. "I thought we might try him in the hoops."

"Instead of Gareth?" Marlene said sharply. "No one's better than Gareth."

Gareth peered down at them from the hoops, oblivious to the conversation.

"Yeah, Gareth's a wonder boy," James said. "But it wouldn't hurt to have backup."

"Try it," Mead said. "If we can get more than one out of five past him—"

"—then he's not good enough," James said, nodding.

He jogged over to tell Holder he wasn't getting Beater. There were two purposes, however, in his running over: he'd also wanted to check if Lily Evans was still there, watching, but the stands were empty, and not even the faintest smell of cigarette smoke remained. Perhaps she was hiding somewhere. Or perhaps—

"I'll try that," Holder said. "I—well, to be honest, I really wanted to be Keeper, but I didn't think you'd be looking for any backup in that position because Reina's so—"

"Yeah, Reina's going to be a legend for some club some day," James said. "But all the same—competition never hurt anyone." He grinned at Holder, who smiled uneasily back.

As James had expected, Holder was good at covering the hoops; he circled around them, making flashy saves with his feet and even one with his head, and James frowned.

"Reserve Keeper," he said when Holder had landed, and Holder seemed pleased enough.

"I can't believe you've saddled me with him," Marlene muttered.

"Gareth's only a fourth year," James said, smirking. "Bar any unexpected injuries—"

"Oh, shut up, Potter, if I know you you'll take Reina with you when you leave just to spite me."

James clapped her on the back. "Let's go pick a reserve Chaser."

"Do we really need one? I have _homework_, Potter …"

"This is for your benefit," James reminded her. "_I_ don't plan on getting injured this season."

"I suppose you're right," Marlene said, sighing and remounting her broom. "Oi, wannabe Chasers! We're going to play a quick match, all right? First side to ten goals wins."

They played with one Beater to each side, with Reina and Holder as the Keepers, Mead the captain of one team and James the captain of the other, Marlene circling around like a hawk to check on how well they played. It was a hard-fought hour or so of play, with Tommy Barton sparing no one's limbs despite having only just joined the team. Somewhat predictably, James's team won, with Robin Thorpe banging three goals past Gareth Reina and grinning at James every time, looking desperately hopeful.

"I don't see why _you_ didn't do that," Marlene grumbled when James flew over to her after.

"I wanted to see them in action," James said, shrugging.

"Anyway, I think it's pretty obvious—Thorpe outplayed everyone except you and Mead. Hasn't got any balls, though. He went for the easy pass instead of the difficult shot every time."

"Yeah, I think you're right. He just needs some work."

"Right. Or some balls," Marlene said. "We'd better go down anyway, Mead looks like she's about to shoot a few Unforgivables at us."

They dropped into a dive; when they landed, a chubby blonde girl who'd scored against Holder clapped gleefully, reminding him absurdly of Peter Pettigrew.

"That was a really good dive," she said, blushing, when James looked over at her.

Marlene groaned loudly. "Potter, your troupe of fangirls is getting ridiculous."

"It's not as bad as Sirius's," he said. "Remember last year, when all those Slytherins pretended to be trying out for Seeker when really they just wanted to please their pureblood mothers and shag the famous Sirius Black all in one go?"

Mead snorted; Eddie Vance laughed; James felt a sudden pang of sadness. He still saw Sirius all the time, of course, but it wasn't the same as—

"Robin," James said, more to end this chain of thought than anything else. "Marlene and I think you outperformed the other Chasers today. You'll be our backup this year."

"Congratulations," Marlene said, though she frowned a little. "Everyone else, thanks for coming."

"We'll work on it," James muttered to Marlene as the crowd surrounding them dissipated. "You—it'll be fine."

"I know," she said. "I'm just thinking about how we'll replace Mead now that we've done you."

"No one could _ever_ replace me," James said, smirking, and Marlene shoved him but laughed.

"All right—team!" James called, and Gareth Reina flew into a surprisingly graceful dive from the hoops to where the rest of the team was floating a few feet off the ground.

He surveyed his team, all eight of them including Robin and Holder, and tried hard not to think about the fact that he was now the only Marauder who played Quidditch regularly, and blimey, Sirius was an utter bleeding _idiot_—what if Tommy wasn't—but no, this was no time to think about that possibility …

Marlene raised an eyebrow at him. "Er—are we just going to stand here all night?"

"Right," James said. "Right." He looked at them all with their eager faces, red from having spent several hours in the brisk October night air, looked at them very solemnly, and said, "Remember: Let us win, and if we cannot win, I shall break your heads."

They looked back at him equally solemnly before Marlene cracked a grin.

"We're back!" she said, and—and it would be all right. It _had_ to be.

"All right, everyone—showers."

Marlene led the group, with James bringing up the rear, and Tommy Barton was hanging back a bit.

"You're going to be spectacular," James promised him. "You played really well today."

"Really?" Tommy said. "You're not—Holder flew really well, I saw him."

"Yeah, but we picked _you_," James said. "D'you really think we'd pick the second best?"

Tommy looked contemplative for a moment, then grinned. "Right. Of course you wouldn't. Thanks, Potter."

James was the last one out of the showers, somewhat unsurprisingly, but Remus was in the locker room waiting for him when he got out.

"Remus," James said, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Lily Evans says you've got patrols tonight," Remus said. "With her."

"Bollocks, I forgot," James said, drying himself quickly. "I thought—I meant to ask her to reschedule, I just—"

"Well, she's already started, so you might just want to use the Map to find her and—"

"She's been such a bitch lately, honestly, she'll probably just use this as another opportunity to tell me I don't deserve to be Head Boy."

"Well, you _are_ forgetting your duties."

"I had Quidditch!"

"So reschedule. Or at least ask me to cover for you."

"You didn't—"

"I didn't _know_, James," Remus said patiently.

"Right," James said, pulling his jumper over his head. "Have you got—"

Remus shoved the Map toward him.

"Thanks, Moony," James said, shoving his feet into his shoes.

"Sirius sent this," Remus said, producing a bundle. "He says you'll need sustenance if you're going to deal with the feisty ginger _and_ replacing him in one night."

"It's his bleeding fault I've got to replace him at all," James said sourly. "Tell him he's a bellend from me, yeah?"

"Listen, James," Remus said. "Lily's—don't be too much of a prick to her tonight."

"What, are you suddenly _her_ best mate?"

"No, but she's—"

"I don't care," James said stubbornly. "She's—"

"Just do your job and ignore her," Remus advised.

"You're too clever to be friends with me."

"I know."

"Piss off."

"Go stop her from blowing up."

James sprinted off, opening the bundle as he ran, and—it was good to have Sirius back, really, he thought as he pulled out a chicken leg and tore into it.

His hair was still damp when he found Lily, sitting in the Heads' office spinning an unlit cigarette between her long fingers, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

"Remus told me you didn't know you had patrols tonight," she said.

"I had Quidditch tryouts."

"You could have _told_ me."

"There were posters all over the bleeding common room, _and_ I saw you on the pitch."

"I was on the pitch _smoking_, not trying to figure out which _Quidditch_ team was practicing. You know there are four here, right? All packed full of annoying Quidditch players who think they're so cool because they can play with their balls in front of hundreds of adoring fans every week when in reality most of them are so thick I'm surprised they can fly in a straight line at all. I wasn't paying attention to the Quidditch players, Potter, is what I'm _trying_ to say."

James stared at her for a long moment before taking a deep breath. "Listen, don't start with me tonight, Evans, I'm honestly not in the mood."

"Oh, because I was in the mood every time you harassed me and my mates over the last six years?"

"Your mates? What, the pompadoured prick you call a boyfriend or the greasy git who'll probably be a Death Eater before he even leaves Hogwarts?"

"Don't talk about Doc like that. He's never done anything to you."

"Doesn't make him any less of a pompadoured prick."

Lily put down her quill, glared at him. "Honestly, Potter, I don't know what your problem is. I've never done _any_thing to you—you're just constantly on my case and I'm bloody _sick_ of it!"

"I'm on _your_ case? You snapped at me for _defending_ you—"

"Oh, shut up, you were just trying to feel big and you know it—"

"What does that even _mean_?"

"Every time you see Snape you feel the need to see whose prick is bigger, and honestly, Potter, that makes me think you've been doing an awful lot of overcompensating over the years."

"I was trying to _defend_ you!"

"Right, poor little James Potter just wants to _save_ everyone—"

James ran a hand through his hair, snarled, "Why are you _attacking_ me—"

But Lily cut him off, as she was wont to do: "You're so annoying, honestly—why didn't you just skive off patrols tonight, I'm sure I could have convinced Dumbledore to name Cara Head Boy instead since _you_ clearly don't give a—"

"Cara? You're calling him _Cara_ now? Was that a prerequisite for getting back together?"

"That's none of your business."

"Honestly, Evans, you're such an emotionally stunted bitch—anyone with half an eyeball can see you and Doc Dearborn will never work together—"

"Your jealousy of Doc Dearborn is getting ridiculous, Potter," Lily said coldly, but the anger from their fight seemed suddenly to be gone from her.

She slumped back into her seat, crossed her legs, and glared at him, and James—what the bleeding _hell_ was that about? He wasn't—well, okay, maybe he was, but only because—well, Dearborn was—

"You don't understand anything," James snarled, throwing her own insult back at her, and she laughed.

"What a poor little rich boy," she said, not even looking at him. "Inventing problems just to make yourself seem more interesting—"

James was suddenly much too angry, because that wasn't—he _wasn't_! And his wand was in his hand before he even thought about it, and bleeding hell she got him so riled up, and it struck him that as much as he'd like to push her off the ledge of the Astronomy Tower just then he'd also very much like to kiss her, and he snarled, "Fine. _Fine_," and stalked off without another word, pausing only to pull a cigarette of his bag and shove it angrily into his mouth, dropping his long-forgotten drumstick on the floor as he walked and hoping Mrs. Norris got some enjoyment out of it.

Lily bleeding Evans was a terrible bleeding bitch and James Potter wanted absolutely nothing to do with her.

* * *

In two years, Lily Evans and James Potter would be wed with the entirety of the Order of the Phoenix and the remainder of their families in attendance. Sirius Black would give a lovely speech, and then so would Mary MacDonald, and the two would dance only with each other for the entire evening.

Now, however, Lily was in the seventh year Gryffindor girls' dormitory after yet another fight with the Marauder, pacing angrily and flicking her lighter on and off again.

"He's awful," Lily complained. "How he became Head Boy is beyond me …"

But Mead had been bored with this conversation since at least fourth year, and even then at least there'd been Snape to let Lily air out all her hatred for James. "He's a good Quidditch captain and he's an all right bloke. Find me one other person who hates his style of leading."

"It's like he's got the whole school hypnotized, even the professors. Everyone loves him, they'd never say a word against him."

"Exactly."

"I don't know why you're defending him. You _know_ he's a just a bully with a massively inflated head and ridiculous hair."

Dorcas thought it was a bit rich for Lily to be calling anyone's hair ridiculous considering what her boyfriend was currently sporting, but she gracefully chose not to point this out. "He's not too bad anymore. He helped me with my Transfiguration homework once," she said instead.

"Really?"

"No, but he gave me a galleon to tell you that."

"See, this is exactly what I'm talking about! How bloody entitled can one person be—"

"It was like two years ago, Lily, he's not still paying me to say nice things about him."

"Bollocks. He hasn't changed one bit."

"You're right, he gave me another galleon the other day to say he'd gallantly rescued a first year from a few mean-looking Slytherins."

"I just don't understand how one person can be so _entitled_—it's like he expects me to fall all over him like every other idiot at this school …"

"Well, he's wealthy and spoiled, but he's also clever—"

"Yeah, but Sirius is wealthy too, and it's not like he's sitting around telling us all how we should drop to our knees and open our mouths at the sight of him."

"Well, he sort of is," Mead said, and Lily gave her a very dirty look.

"Whatever," Lily said. "I'm going to see Doc."

And—

It was almost as if that had been on purpose, really.

Mead watched Lily tie her hair back before grabbing her bag—bulging with books, unsurprisingly, though what she was planning to do with Doc that involved textbooks Dorcas could not say—and leaving.

Dorcas cracked open the window and stole a cigarette from Lily's only occasionally used dresser (she kept a spare set of robes, a pack of cigarettes, and some socks in it and almost nothing else), glancing at Alice's bed as if to ward her spirit away before lighting the cigarette and taking her first drag, blowing the smoke out the window in a clean stream.

"Merlin, Meadowes, if you're going to smoke in here could you at least—at _least_—open the window?"

"It _is_ open, Moore, or can't you see with that stupid haircut of yours?"

Alexandria rolled her eyes. "Right, _I'm_ the one with stupid hair."

"That's racist," Dorcas said automatically.

"No it isn't," Alexandria replied. "Well, are you going to share or hog all the cancer?"

"They're Lily's."

"She won't mind." Alexandria took one, too, dragged a chair up to the window next to Mead.

"I'm sure she will," Mead said.

"You need to learn how to relax, Meadowes."

"You need to learn how to _piss off_, Moore."

"I heard Lily and Doc Dearborn got back together."

"Yeah, it's all very sweet."

"Is it?" Alexandria cocked her head to the side. "It's just so nice. All three of you. You're Doc's best mate and Lily's best mate and Lily's Doc's girlfriend … you three must have really great fun together."

"I never hang out with them alone. Wouldn't want to be the third wheel."

"Right. The third wheel. You."

"Are you trying to get at something here, or are you just being cryptic for the sake of being cryptic?"

"I'm not trying to get at anything."

A pause.

"How's Ollie Caldwell?" Mead asked.

"I could ask you the same question."

"But you didn't."

"How's Doc Dearborn?"

"He's wondering why you're so obsessed with him. I think Lily might have some competition after all."

"Oh, I'm sure she does."

"But not from you?"

"Please. I could do better. Have you seen his hair?"

"His hair is fine."

"You _would_ say that."

"Yes, as he's my best mate, I _would_." Mead had finished her cigarette and now put it out in the ash tray on the window sill before Vanishing the butt.

They sat in silence for a long moment, until—

"Did you read that article in the _Prophet_ this morning?" Alexandria asked. "The one about—"

"The anti-Muggle-born legislation? _Yes_, I read it. I read the _Prophet_ every morning. I'm well-informed, not some vapid—"

"I'm just trying to make it less tense!" Alexandria said, voice suddenly strangely high-pitched. "Honestly, Meadowes—why don't you just _accept_ that—"

She stopped suddenly, closed her eyes, inhaled. "Look, I just want us to get along, all right? Nat mentioned that—well, she just said it'd be better if we stopped fighting, and I think she's right."

Mead wanted very badly to roll her eyes, but she wasn't about to let Alexandria Moore be the bigger man. Instead, she sighed. "I think it's ridiculous that Avery's legislation is getting any votes at all, but to be honest I'm not surprised. Have you met his son?"

Alexandria looked satisfied. "Yeah, he's a prick. Good in bed, though."

"Ew, really? He's a pure blood fanatic, not to mention racist—"

"I didn't know that when he snogged me," Alexandria said defensively. "And anyway, I think a man's personal beliefs should be ignored when judging his—"

"You're such a _tart_," Mead said. "_Honestly_—"

"I thought we were finally getting somewhere," Alexandria said, sighing dejectedly and tossing her cigarette butt out the window. "Whatever, I'll tell Nat I tried."

"You didn't _try_, you—

"_You_ called me a tart," Alexandria said. "And _I'm_ not the one making eyes at her best friend's boyfriend." She left the girls' dormitory, slamming the door shut behind her and leaving Mead glaring at the empty ash tray.

Alexandria Moore was two things: a stupid tart, and completely incorrect.

* * *

Doc had snuck Lily into the Ravenclaw common room so many times over the last couple of years that she almost felt like she _was_ a Ravenclaw. Of late, she'd spent more nights in his dormitory than she had in her own, and certainly more than she had in the Gryffindor seventh year girls' dormitory. She liked the other Ravenclaws; they were sarcastic and witty and liked studying more than playing Gobstones. The studious quiet and dry laughter of the Ravenclaw common room were nice after the boisterous noise of the Gryffindor one, and Lily even liked letting her swottier side out around them. It wasn't often she could correct someone on the uses of dragon's blood without feeling bad for it, but here that sort of behavior was not just tolerated, but encouraged.

Once, a Ravenclaw had caught her apparently not waving her wand correctly during an "Alohomora" and had explained, a little belittlingly, that her movements were incorrect; she'd responded hostilely and he'd laughed at her for apparently being "a typical Gryffindor." He'd later had a drawn-out discussion with her regarding the benefits of modifying potions to suit one's needs, eventually agreeing with her that textbooks rarely contained ideal formulations, preferring, instead, to list the ones most accessible in order to sell as many copies to schools and students as possible. It was then that she'd decided she fit in with the other Ravenclaws a bit too well, perhaps more than she did at Gryffindor (until they'd all decided to try snorting powdered dragon dung to help them study during exams the previous term; that was when she'd retreated to her own common room to study), and so now, sitting with a group of them, a few mugs of tea, and her Charms text, she felt surprisingly at home.

"Well, I'm exhausted," Doc said, rolling up the parchment he'd been diligently scribbling on. "I think I'm about done for the night." He looked at her expectantly, and Lily closed her book, too.

"Me, too," she said. "Night, all."

The Ravenclaws nodded, mostly ignoring them. That was another reason Lily liked the Ravenclaws—she could always be sure none of them would leer up at them, especially on a weeknight, when they were all so focused on their work that they didn't pay a lick of attention to their mates' sex lives.

"I really am tired," Doc said as they walked up the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower. "I mean, if you just want to sleep—"

"No, I miss you," Lily said, pressing close against his side and resisting a yawn.

Doc laughed. "I'm serious, we can just cuddle."

"We never cuddle."

He grinned. "It'd make a nice change."

"Would it?"

"Well—naked cuddling, perhaps. Is that a thing people do?"

"It can be."

But when they climbed into Doc's bed, Lily found that cuddling, naked or no, was not enough to take her mind off her arguments with nearly everyone she knew, and so she leaned up, kissing the side of Doc's neck, just where his artery was. His skin was very warm. He kissed her, too, until suddenly she didn't want to do that either.

"Sorry," she said, pulling away a little to rest her head against his chest. "I've just—I fought with James Potter again today, not to mention Mead ..."

"You're thinking about James Potter right now? Should I be jealous?"

"Don't you start that too," Lily said. "I swear half the reason me and Sev aren't friends anymore is—"

"Don't start with the Sev nonsense again," Doc said. "Honestly, aren't you over—"

And Lily was honestly just so _tired_, tired of fighting with _everyone_, all the bloody time, and so she burst into tears and sat up, wiping at them angrily.

"Lily," Doc said gently. "Lily." He kissed her cheek, handed her a handkerchief from his nightstand, pulled her back down beside him, hugging her close and letting her cuddle up to his chest.

"I'm sorry," she said, sniffling. "It's just—I'm so tired of fighting with everyone, and he's the bloody Head Boy, and Sev and I _were_ really good friends, and to top it all off, if the _Prophet_'s right, half the school wants me to not be able to _go_ to this school—"

"Lily," Doc said softly. "You know that's not true. It's just some rogue Slytherins, and they're not worth your tears."

Of course Doc was right, but that wasn't even all of it at all, and as he pulled her close to him she was shocked to realize how much she'd actually missed him and also how clear it was that their relationship was not going to last.

"I love you," he murmured against her hair as she finally relaxed. "Just remember that, all right?"

That was sweet, Lily thought, but it probably wouldn't be enough.

A/N: Title inspired by Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, one of my least favorite classics of all time and yet probably the one that fits this particular story best.


	9. Dear Frank

_Dear Frank,_

Hope all is well with you. Classes have been-well, they've been classes, I suppose. You already know everything there is to know about what it's like to be taking seven N.E.W.T. classes. I barely have enough time in the day to go to class, let alone do homework or see friends.

McGonagall has been on my arse about Transfiguration. I'm doing well in everything else-Potions, Charms, Defense (new professor is genius), Herbology, History of Magic (no one else is taking it except for Sirius Black-bit strange if you ask me), Care of Magical Creatures, even. I've signed up for Alchemy but McGonagall says as only two other people were interested, there wouldn't be a course offered this term, which I suppose makes sense, but I can't see how people wouldn't want to learn how to turn lead into gold. I suppose it's just fancy Transfiguration anyway, so it's probably for the best that the course doesn't exist. Other classes are going well. Herbology is-well, it's Herbology, so I'm doing well. Charms has been all right, too. Flitwick is lovely as usual. 

* * *

Mary was barely paying attention to the glass in front of her, which she was supposed to be charming into doing something she hadn't heard Flitwick say because she'd been too busy choosing a new dress out of a catalog her mother had sent her, and it was this constant yearning for a distraction that had led to her staring out the window at precisely the moment in which a small, brown and white owl slammed against it.

The bird fluttered back in the air a bit before starting to peck incessantly at the glass, and Mary glanced over to where Flitwick was dutifully helping Peter Pettigrew perfect his wand movements before getting out of her seat and pushing the window open. She looked over at Flitwick again-Pettigrew was practically sweating, poor lad-and then reached her hand out to the owl. It landed neatly on her wrist and stuck its leg out so she could take the scroll, then flew off again without waiting for a response. Mary frowned, but shut the window; it took a moment's struggle, and once it finally yielded, the wooden frame slammed so hard against the window sill that Lily gave a small yelp of shock, at last distracted from her magic.

"Miss MacDonald, _what_ is all the commotion?" Flitwick asked, turning at last and frowning at her.

"Sorry, Professor," Mary said, thinking wildly for an excuse so she could leave and read the letter in private. "Er-I'm having girl troubles, sir."

"Oh!" Flitwick squeaked nervously.

"Yes, I've-I'm bleeding out of my vagina, sir."

Sirius Black, apparently suddenly unable to control himself, let out a bark of laughter and laughed for so long that he choked on his saliva. Remus Lupin clapped him on the back while turning to Mary, eyebrow raised and lip tilted upward in some semblance of a smirk.

"Er-you'd better leave, then," Flitwick said finally. Sirius Black was still laughing when Mary had gathered up her books and left the room.

The letter's contents were inconsequential: mainly, Xabier detailed his days and his time at a wizarding university in Spain. He was happy, he wrote, but none of his friends from school had elected to attend uni and as such he was feeling rather lonely. He didn't know anyone in Catalonia, didn't even speak their language-_Catalan is tricky; Euskara sounds graceful, but Catalan is like knives in your mouth. Good thing we all have Spanish. Thanks Franco._ The last, Mary thought, was probably a joke he assumed she'd understand because she was Muggle-born, but she knew very little of Spanish politics and so, though she vaguely understood the reference to Franco, the apparent gratitude toward him was lost on her.

Mary set the letter down on her vanity and frowned at her reflection in the mirror. The letter had said nothing of real merit, but Xabier's signature, its loopy letters and the smiley face beside it, had triggered something strange within her. She wanted to ignore it, to go to parties and meet new boys and perhaps find a boyfriend, but Xabier had planted flowers in her chest and left them when they were half-grown and starving for water. British water, it turned out, simply would not do; perhaps there was some sort of Basque community in Hogsmeade that could help her, but even this, she thought, would likely not be enough. Mary smoked a cigarette in effort to suffocate the flowers, to-to think normal boys were cute again-but it made her cough and so she put it out and instead ducked under her bed for her stash of firewhiskey.

She back down at the parchment. Xabier's handwriting was not like any other boy's she'd ever met. It was loping and graceful, with perfectly caligraphed loops on the l's and f's and b's. No, another boy would not do. Not at all. Basque or British or even bloody Belgian-none of them were Xabier, and thus none of them would do anything for her.

Mary, as it turned out, was _not_ having girl troubles-but now that she had the excuse, she reclined in her bed, staring listlessly at the top of the four poster and sighing wearily. She was so very _tired_ lately, with Lily so involved in her Head Girl duties and Caradoc Dearborn … Mead had been at Quidditch all the time lately, and when she wasn't at Quidditch, she seemed so strange that Mary could barely sustain a conversation … only Alice was ever around, and Mary and Alice had never exactly been the closest of mates. They were more friends of convenience than friends of compatible personalities, and it showed in the awkward conversations they had whenever Mead or Lily were not there to facilitate.

Mary sank into a nap, only waking up when two loud voices entered the dormitory. It took her a moment to register who exactly was arguing, but when she had, she was wholly unsurprised.

"I'm not saying you're not clever," Alexandria said. "Only that you've got-well-_questionable_ taste in blokes, and that's got to say something about your-"

"Oh, shut up, Alexandria, just because I haven't been shagging future Death Eaters-"

Natalie Spinnet, too, was in their dormitory, already sat on her bed with a bottle of nail polish out, dutifully ignoring the argument between her two roommates as she chose a station on her radio.

"Shut up both of you, for _Christ_'s sake," Mary said, rolling her eyes and taking special pleasure in saying something that would make her very Roman Catholic parents' eyelashes fall off.

"Aren't you taking the Lord's name in vain a little there, MacDonald?" Mead asked.

"What do _you_ know about the Lord's name?"

"I thought you were a pure blood," Nat said. "Or at least had two parents who were magical?"

"Nah, my dad was Anglican, but my mum brought me up like a pureblood after he picked up an extra shift and a couple of 20-something birds when I was six," Mead said, in a well-rehearsed line Mary had heard her drop at least a dozen times since first year. "Anyway, what's the letter say that was so urgent you had to run out of Charms?"

Alexandria was still very deliberately not looking at her, but she glanced in Mary's direction curiously, which brought them back to the original issue.

"For Christ's sake," Mary said again. "Stop pretending you hate each other!"

"We're not pretending," Mead snapped, just as Alexandria said indignantly, "We don't hate each other!"

There followed an awkward silence that lasted until Natalie said, her voice fairly high-pitched, "Have you heard this new song by the Winter Witches? Hang on, shut up, it's coming on right now."

Mary snorted and inwardly thanked Natalie for her very quick segue before sitting up. "Have I missed dinner?"

"Yeah, but I think Lily's bringing a plate up," Mead said. "What've you been doing this whole time? Are you really menstruating?"

"Yeah, Mead, I'm _menstruating_ and I announced it to our entire class," Mary said, rolling her eyes.

"Shut up and listen to the song," Natalie said, glaring at all of them as the door opened again.

"Mead, we've got practice ten minutes ago," Marlene O'Connell said, glaring at her. "Potter's going to kill us."

"We're _ten minutes_ late? Bollocks, Potter'll have our heads," Mead said.

"Well, we'll be ten minutes late in about twenty minutes, which is bad enough for Potter," Marlene said, rolling her eyes. "Hello, Mary! Haven't seen you much since that night in Spain."

"Yeah, I saw you made a friend that night."

"I saw _you_ made a friend that night," Marlene said, raising her eyebrow and grinning. "Mead, aren't you _ready_?"

"Sorry, I'm just trying to find my-ah!" She lifted a long sock triumphantly. "Sorry, let's go. Lily should be up soon with your food, Mares."

"I'll see you lot later," Marlene said. "Moore … we should go to that shop in Hogsmeade that you mentioned."

"There's not a Hogsmeade weekend until Halloween," Alexandria said.

"Well, yeah, but you're sleeping with a Marauder and I've got one for a Quidditch captain, so …"

"You're sleeping with a Marauder?"

"Only sort of," Alexandria said, glaring at Marlene. "Yes, I'll ask him."

"Why are you two at each other's throats all the time?" Mary asked once Mead and Marlene had left. "It's not-you're not so different. You're both motivated, and pretty, and you both get loads of blokes-"

"I don't know," Alexandria said, sounding miserable. "I sort of thought it was just fun banter, but it turns out she actually _hates_ me."

"No, she doesn't," Mary said.

"I think sometimes girls like to compete with each other," Natalie said, and then frowned. "Actually, if you really think about it, that's this sort of construct that's been built up-that females have to be constantly competing for male attention-"

"Shut up, Nat, this isn't an essay about the destruction of gender roles," Alexandria said. Natalie pouted and continued painting her nails. "Mead just doesn't like me."

"Yeah, because you threaten her because you're both taught that-"

"Have you tried talking to Alice about this?" Mary asked. "Seems like the type of thing she'd be interested in."

"Yeah, but it's not about telling people who already know, is it," Natalie said, looking glumly at her nails. "Bugger, I've just ruined a nail-"

"I know a good charm for that," Alexandria said. "Here-"

It was nice, Mary supposed, to be with other females who were _not_ constantly talking about either James Potter or some random bit of current events that she did not care very much about. Still, she thought, as the conversation turned to the new shop that Alexandria and Marlene were going to, it _would_ have been nice to have Xabier there …

Mary tuned out of the conversation and only tuned back in when Lily arrived, bearing a plate piled high with shepherd's pie, caesar salad, chicken, and Mary's favorite rolls.

"You're a goddess," she said gratefully.

"Just don't bleed on my bed," Lily responded, before leaving again.

The chicken tasted suddenly dry in Mary's mouth. She set it down on her nightstand and glared at it.

"What d'you think of yellow with my skintone, Mary?" Alexandria asked, and Mary was immediately grateful to not have to think about the two minutes that Lily had spent in the dormitory.

"Depends on the shade," she said, and Alexandria grinned.

"See, Nat? I _told_ you ..."

They weren't, Mary supposed, _that_ awful.

* * *

_Defense is life-changing. Elphias Doge is the best professor I've ever had. He knows so much about Defense, it's an absolute joke. He's offering up an apprenticeship and I think it would change my life if I could just-well, if I could just get it. It'd look good on my CV, of course, but I'm also absolutely desperate to work with someone of his caliber. The other day in class, he told us he's got an internship of sorts for the best-qualified graduating seventh year he teaches._

* * *

Lily had not slept enough the night before, even with Doc's arms wrapped around her and her head tucked neatly into the crook between his neck and shoulder.

She'd woken up stiff and much too early, with the sun barely peeking through the night and the room surprisingly frigid. She'd untangled her limbs from Doc's and lit the torches in her room, but still it had not warmed up sufficiently and so she had simply conjured another blanket and gotten back into bed, staring at the top of her four poster until Doc had woken up, kissed her sleepily, and said, "Morning, Lils," in his adorable early-morning voice.

As a result, she was now sitting in Defense Against the Dark Arts, barely paying attention to Doge and doodling birds and broomsticks on the corner of her parchment-at least, at first she'd only been doodling on the corners. Now, there was a very detailed sketch of a flock of birds flying straight into three flyers, all of whom were facing in the opposite direction, taking up the bottom half of her page. Instead of practicing whatever spell Doge had set them, Lily had bewitched the drawing, so that the birds were now actually flying into the people on brooms, whose faces lit up in shock. The image stopped; the birds moved back; it all happened again.

"Pay attention," Alice hissed beside her, and Lily looked up.

"And finally, after I've left Hogwarts at the end of the spring term, I will be taking up a position to be Special Advisor to Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Doge was saying. "I will need an assistant of sorts-consider it an apprenticeship. I thought the best-qualified would be freshly graduated Hogwarts students who had taken my class, and so I am offering the position to all of you. Now I know some of you were hoping to get into Auror trainee programs fresh out of Hogwarts, but you should know that the application process is very difficult, and if your curriculum vitae is not already loaded, it will be difficult to take one of the highly-coveted spots. Thus, I encourage you all to apply for my apprenticeship."

There was a momentary pause; Lily, having learned that this was his habit in dismissing his students, began immediately to pack her bag, including her stunning work of art, but Alice was hanging back, furiously taking down notes.

"I don't think you need to transcribe every word he says to get the position, Alice," Mead said, rolling her eyes. "You're already his favorite."

"What are you talking about? He barely knows my name," Alice said, scowling but capping her ink bottle at last.

"What do you think they have for lunch today?" Mary asked. "I'm _starving_.

"I don't know, but I hope there's soup," Lily said. "It's freezing outside."

"What's that, Lils?" Caradoc said, sweeping in beside her. "You're cold?"

"It's cold outside, but I'm fine."

"Here, take my scarf," he said, wrapping the blue and silver striped scarf around her head.

"I said I'm _fine_, Doc, honestly-"

But Doc was not listening to her. Lily sighed; she loved him, really, she did, but he was just so bloody _annoying_ sometimes.

"Listen, I can't have lunch with you today," Doc said. "I've got to finish those Transfiguration problems, _and_ I've got some paperwork for the Auror office."

"I could help," Lily suggested, hoping desperately that he would reject her offer.

"Thanks," he said, "but I know you're rubbish at Transfiguration-well, at least you're worse than me," he remedied at her glare, and then, "listen, Lils, there has to be _one_ thing I'm better at than you are-"

"That's better," Lily said, and was not sad to watch him walk away.

* * *

_As far as social life goes, well, mine's practically nonexistent. I see my mates at meals if we're not all too busy for that and that's basically it. Everyone's so busy this year with Head Girl duties and things!_

* * *

"How come you and Lily never patrol together?" asked Remus Lupin as they wandered the fifth floor corridors.

Doc shrugged. "Dunno. She's never assigned us the same night."

"Huh."

There was a silence, and Doc was surprised that it was not tense. Lupin wasn't paying him any attention, anyway, was barely even looking at the corridors. Instead, he was reading the wrapper on a piece of chocolate he'd just eaten.

And no, Doc did not know why Lily had not assigned them the same night, though perhaps he should have been grateful.

Lily Evans, as far as Doc Dearborn was concerned, had exactly two things going for her:

The first was the sloping lines of her body, the lean muscle in her legs, the way that when she stretched, her shoulders rolled back like smooth hills and her neck arched like exactly one half of a love heart.

The second was the way her mind clicked into gear and began slotting things together almost in opposition to everyone who said she would be inferior, so that every time she attempted a piece of magic, the theory and usually the practice behind it was perfect, so that every potion she ever mixed came out as close to perfection as anyone had ever seen. It was why she was Head Girl. It was why she was a brilliant witch. It was, to a certain extent, why Doc loved her.

It had been nearly two years.

Caradoc did not understand why he had not been able to make himself love her fully, nor why she had not been able to do so either. He did love her, the way one loved something that one had possessed for a very long time, but he did not love her the way one loved a girl. He thought about this fact as infrequently as possible, because when they were curled against each other in his bed, he was utterly content, and yet if they had to look each other in the eye in the daylight they could barely manage to make conversation.

He released a long sigh, causing Lupin to look over at him.

"Tired?" Lupin asked, apparently having mistaken it for a yawn. "You can go on to bed, I'll finish up-"

"I'm fine," Doc interrupted. "Besides, wouldn't want you setting water beetles loose on the school or anything … I've met your mates, Lupin."

"Fair enough," Lupin said, shrugging and quirking his lip up in the tiniest of smiles. And that-that surprised Doc, who had been expecting Lupin to take offense, or claim he'd never do such a thing.

"Chocolate?" Lupin said instead, offering him some. "The cocoa beans were watered from Avalon, apparently."

"That doesn't sound sanitary," Doc said, taking some anyway.

"It's not as if King Arthur's body is still in there," Lupin said, and then frowned. "Hang on-is it?"

Doc snorted, and-Lupin wasn't bad, really.

* * *

_Anyway, there's been an outbreak of fleas in the seventh year dormitories so everyone's avoiding them. Remus Lupin says it's all Sirius Black's fault, but he doesn't look particularly flea-bitten so I can't be sure. Then again, I did see him scratching himself like a dog the other day, which, disgusting, right? And, of course, Lily's been fighting with James Potter all term. It's gotten ridiculous, really. Everyone's walking around on eggshells around both of them because they've been in right foul moods. Maybe not the best choice to make them Head Boy and Girl-instead of working together, they seem to hate each other _more.

* * *

"So what d'you think, Moony? Going to go for that apprenticeship?" Sirius asked.

"Dunno, Pads, as long as he can do without me for a week out of the month I think I'm a prime candidate."

Sirius snorted, but Peter looked worried.

"I'm going to apply," he said. "I mean-I don't know if I'll get it, but I'll certainly try. It's paid, right? I'm all right at Defense. Prongs, what about you?"

But James was not listening to their conversation; instead, he was holding his fork very tightly in his hand, body turned stubbornly away from the girl sitting beside him.

It had only been a few days since what had apparently been the biggest fight James and Lily had ever had, and they'd been absolutely brutal to one another since. Where their bickering had once been amusing, there was only frigid silence now; they sat stubbornly next to each other at each meal despite this, thereby making everything incredibly awkward for all of their friends.

It struck Sirius that they were very much like a married couple going through a very difficult divorce, and the Marauders and Lily's friends were just the poor children stuck in the middle, wondering if they were at fault for the collapse of their family. The irony was that the two groups had never been a family to begin with, and yet now found themselves giving each other long looks of understanding and commiseration whilst forced to sit together at meals and endure their friends' stupidity. The weekend immediately prior, they'd all gotten pissed without James and Lily. When the two had found out upon returning from what Sirius could only assume had been the most productive patrols session ever, they'd silently taken a good amount of the remaining alcohol and walked off to their respective dormitories.

This would have been amusing if it had not been so bleeding _annoying_. The two were acting like children, really, and Sirius was not one to tout maturity as a positive trait, but even he was frustrated with the two. He assumed the entire argument had been primarily Lily's fault, as for all her positive traits, she could be rather judgmental and rarely listened when one tried to explain that one's misdeeds were not one's fault-at least, that had been his experience with her the previous year, when he'd set off dungbombs in the dungeon-but that didn't mean James hadn't been a right irresponsible twat, either.

"This is getting ridiculous," Mead said from beside Sirius.

"What is?" Peter asked, before releasing a drawn-out, "_Ohhhh_."

Mead rolled her eyes, then poked Lily. "Lily. This is getting ridiculous."

Lily ignored her, but turned, to Sirius's surprise, to James. "Pass the salt," she said.

There was a moment's pause where Sirius was sure James would pass the salt and all would be well again: James would be asking Lily to go out with him and she would be rejecting him in hilarious manner, and then they would get along all right except for when they bickered, and eventually James would get another girlfriend or perhaps marry Lily, and all would be well.

But then James took the only two salt shakers within reach and began pouring liberal amounts of salt onto his food, pretending he hadn't heard Lily at all.

"James," Remus said pointedly, while Lily's friends watched with vague interest.

"House elves are slacking," James said. "Needs more salt."

"Pass the salt, please," Lily said again, and when James continued shaking salt onto his food with both hands, she pulled out her wand so quickly that Sirius hadn't even registered it before she said, "_Accio_ bloody _salt shaker_."

Half the salt shakers from around the Great Hall, including the one from the staff table, soared suddenly toward them; one of them slammed straight into the back of James's head with a surprisingly large _thump_, but most of them landed with a loud crash on the table before Lily, who took one of them, added salt daintily to her soup, and began sipping at it as if absolutely nothing were out of the ordinary.

Naturally, she received a detention the moment McGonagall reached their table, looking so much in shock at the perpetrator of the salt thievery that her hat was askew and there was a little dribble of saliva resting on the corner of her mouth.

"Likes her salt, that one," Mead muttered under her breath. Sirius snorted.

"Wasn't expecting a show with lunch today," Sirius said.

"Wasn't expecting Evans to get detention, more like," Peter said.

"I think that's exactly what I _meant_, Wormtail," Sirius said, rolling his eyes. "I think it's called _figurative language_."

"Yeah, I suppose it was amusing," Remus said. "Still, getting a bit annoying, this fighting. Haven't you gotten tired of it yet?"

James said something in response, but Sirius did not notice: Remus stretched a bit as he bent to pick his bag up off the floor, and his sweater pulled away from his trousers just a bit so a tiny strip of skin peeked through, and-

Remus's back was freckled. It was strange, because Remus typically tanned in the sun, but his shoulders and lower back, Sirius knew from the many times he'd seen him change, were smattered with freckles, varying in shades from dark brown to almost orange, and it wasn't like Remus was a ginger, but he had freckles, just little patches of skin with too much pigment in them, and Sirius felt his voice get caught in his throat and so he looked away.

"You coming, Prongs?"

James started as if from a trance and ran a hand through his hair.

"Right," he said. "Right, let's go."

He walked a little ahead of them the entire time, completely ignoring their conversation and veering off toward his own room even though Sirius couldn't remember him ever going in there at all since they'd made up.

"So, free period, no Prongs," Sirius said. "Whatever shall we do?"

It was Peter who first smiled wickedly: "Well," he said, "I rescued some firewhiskey from James and Evans' raid last weekend, and we haven't pregamed a class yet this term ..."

"We drink entirely too much," Remus said, and took out his shotglasses.

Sirius only grinned in response.

* * *

_Did you hear about that awful attack in Reading? Whatever's going on, we need to put a stop to it, and soon. Dumbledore took down Grindelwald-what do you think he'll do with Voldemort? Mead keeps saying it was terrible of the photographer to take the photograph instead of helping the child, but I don't think the photographer could have done much. At least now there's film evidence. Still-I keep thinking, what if the photographer was the child's parent? What if the photographer didn't even understand what was going on? And can you believe the _Prophet_ ran that article about the anti-Muggle-born legislation on the same day?_

* * *

An owl swooped down before Dorcas the next morning at breakfast, landing just beside her coffee cup and holding out its leg so she could detach her copy of the paper. Alice's owl had much less luck: it seemed almost to fall into her bowl of porridge, and she untied the porridge-soaked scroll quickly. Her face fell when she realized it was only the _Prophet_, but she gasped upon looking at the front page.

"What?" Mead said, unrolling her own paper. Her mouth fell open. "Merlin …"

Beneath the typical _Daily Prophet_ masthead, there was a half-page image of a child, seemingly barely old enough to walk. It was-somewhat surprisingly for the _Prophet_-a full-color image with no movement, meaning it was undoubtedly of Muggle origin.

More striking, however, were the four tall, hooded, and masked figures who stood before the child, all with wands pointed at him. The child looked absolutely terrified, but its hand was held out as if in defiance, and out of it shot vivid blue light. The picture had been shot from close to the ground, as if the Muggle who'd taken it had been lying down or crouched somewhere.

The headline read, **_DEATH EATERS IN READING: _**Dark Lord Supporters Terrorize Muggle-born Children, Alert Muggles to Existence of Wizards, but the image itself was enough to take precedence over the article.

"The child died," Lily said, looking up at Mead, stricken. "It-they killed him. This child. Because-because he was a Muggle-born."

"That's awful."

Lily could not respond: there was an awful gagging feeling in the back of her throat, like she was going to vomit, and she could only stare back at the image of the child.

"Who took the picture?" Alice asked. "Does it list a name?"

"No," Mead said. "What if it was its parent, or-I mean, it was obviously a Muggle, and what if the Muggle didn't know-but still, how come he took the picture and didn't bloody-" She stopped, exhaled.

"That's _awful_," Lily said at last.

"No, this is worse," James said grimly from beside Alice, and much as Lily wanted to ignore him, she couldn't help but look at him questioningly. "Look at page eight … How completely disgusting."

"What is it?" Mead asked.

"Avery's legislation has been racking up more votes in the Wizengamot," James said. "They're thinking he may get enough to bring it to the floor for debate."

"The one that requires magic tests?" Alice said angrily. "That's _ridiculous_-how are you supposed to know magic if you haven't ever even been to school for it?"

"And what's the _point_?" Sirius Black added. "It's not as if-I mean, if they've told you to come to Hogwarts they've already determined you have magic!"

"Look, it says they might try to make the amount of magical blood they can trace in your genealogy higher, too—so, what, would true-born Muggle-borns just not be allowed anymore?"

Lily looked away from the Marauders, who looked about to enter an angry discussion. They were insufferable, really, especially Sirius and James: how two people with such privilege could consider themselves knowledgable about what it felt like to have to face such terrible and, frankly, _stupid_ prejudice was beyond her.

But perhaps she was only scapegoating them because of the terrible disappointment she felt in her people: she had proven, time and time again, that she was at least as competent at magic as the cleverest pure-bloods she knew, and still, _still_ they thought her lesser—and for what? For her parentage? For having the gall to show them that old blood was not necessary to be a good witch?

Anyway, it didn't matter, she thought, standing to leave for class: she was the cleverest witch in her year, at least at Potions and Charms, and she would show every single arsehole who thought he was superior to her for his _bloodline_ that he knew fuck all about what it meant to be a wizard.

* * *

_Well, I suppose that's the world we live in now. I can only get myself through the days by reminding myself that in a few months, I'll be out there, fighting this evil prick, and then—well, then everything will have been worth it. I miss you more than the Queen misses her colonies. Yours, Alice_

* * *

**A/N:** I hope you liked this chapter! Please leave a review :) comments, questions, suggestions, recommendations...or just tell me about your day!


	10. Flying

Frank's reply to Alice's letter was only a line long:

_Alice, Good to hear from you Auror training is going well, will keep you updated stay brilliant, love Frank_

Alice dropped the bit of parchment on her way to class and didn't notice until she was already sat in front of Professor Doge.

* * *

Benjy Fenwick was like a bird, James thought, watching him soar through the air, twisting and turning lithely through the towers and turrets of the castle.

"Right," he said, turning to his Beaters. "Right—so Fenwick's off practicing his dives and rolls, I want you practicing your aim and power. Get a couple of bats, bang a few Bludgers at a wall. Then conjure slightly softer balls, try and make the same size dents in the same places—"

"We _know_ that, Potter," Eddie Vance said, rolling his eyes.

"Well, Barton's not exactly a _veteran_," James said defensively.

"I think I've got it, Potter," Barton said, playing absently with his bat.

"Right," James said. "Right. Take a corner of the pitch, practice your aim—no brooms for now. Chasers!" He turned to Mead, Marlene, and the reserve Chaser, Robin Thorpe. "Suicides to get our hearts pumping, then we'll switch to yoga for flexibility."

It was good to be out again, running and practicing with his team.

"Fenwick! Come down here for yoga!" he called, and Benjy dropped into a deep near-vertical dive.

"Nice one," Mead said, clapping Benjy on the back. He beamed at her.

"Alright, gang, come on … drop into downward dog …"

"Er," said Robin. "I still don't—"

"Just do what we do," James said.

"It'll be tough at first, but eventually you'll get it," Marlene said, somewhat more reassuringly than James.

"Right," Robin said, though he still looked nervous. His limbs did not quite reach the level of flexibility the rest of the attack had developed, but James thought over the next season he'd probably mature into a fairly good Chaser to take over for Mead when she left. His own replacement, however, was going to be Marlene's responsibility … Perhaps Holder could play Chaser …

"Rise into cow face," James said, and the team sat up.

It was just reaching the point in autumn when it stopped being warm enough to be outside without an extra layer on top, and James and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team were all in workout clothing, shorts and short-sleeved shirts for these earlier conditioning practices. He'd make them all wear robes for practice later on so they'd be used to the extra weight and drag, but for now it would just be an unnecessary discomfort.

The air nipped at the cool sheen of sweat developing on James's skin, and the stretch in his back from the yoga felt good in a way nothing really had since the end of the last season.

"We should start doing yoga every morning," he said, mostly to himself, and the rest of his offense groaned.

"I'm not waking up to stretch with you by the sunrise, Potter," Marlene said from behind him.

James ignored her. "Flex your right legs, guys. Dancer."

Yes, James thought … there were few things better than sitting on the Quidditch pitch in mid-October and limbering oneself out.

Except, he amended, eyeing the broomsticks hovering nearby, _flying_ on the Quidditch pitch in mid-October, preferably with a Quaffle under his arm in front of the hoops or ready to figure out precisely who to pass to for the best possible chance at goal, running one of the many plays they'd worked out at practice or being spontaneous and creative and ballsy and clever. Flying, it was true, was beautiful—but Quidditch? Quidditch was what he _lived_ for.

"Right," he said as they broke out of their final yoga position. "On your brooms, take position, four on four, one Beater to a team. Benjy, let a Snitch loose and give it a five minute head start."

Hours later, they all dropped into dives—Barton's wasn't sharp enough, James observed, and Mead's had gotten sloppier since he'd last seen it, but that could all be amended before the first match—and landed neatly on the pitch, drenched in sweat and exhausted.

"Showers," he said, out of breath but feeling exhilarated for it.

"You weren't joking," he heard Barton tell Eddie Vance as they all stripped to get into the shower. "Potter's _mad_."

"You sort of go mad, too, though," Eddie replied. "It's—a friendly sort of madness."

"I'm going to be sore in the morning," Barton said.

"Butt you'll love it."

Grinning to himself like a maniac, James entered the first empty shower he found.

As usual, he took longer to shower than everyone else and made his way back across the pitch slowly, taking full advantage of the not-quite-cold air that he knew would not last for very much longer. He very desperately craved a cigarette.

He'd figured out that he smoked too much the first time he'd noticed that he'd stopped noticing that his mouth always tasted like stale cigarette smoke, and now, breathing in clean air, desperately craved not to be. But he'd left his cigarettes back at the castle, being rather reluctant to damage his lungs just before a Quidditch workout. As a result, he'd have to ask the lone smoking figure in the Quidditch stands, though as he grew closer, he had a sinking suspicion he already knew who she was.

"Hey Evans," he said, tapping her shoulder before he could change his mind. She spun around, looking almost alarmed, then frowned upon seeing James.

"Potter."

"Can I tap a cigarette?"

Surprisingly, her face relaxed. "Oh. Yeah, course." She pulled out her pack—she smoked Muggles, he noticed, which was nice because he hated the self-lighting ones everyone here seemed to smoke. He preferred the ones Sirius rolled, or Forgden's Toasteds—offered it to James, then held her lighter up to the cigarette once he put it in his mouth. He inhaled and the paper ignited.

"Are these Lucky Strikes?"

"They're toasted," Lily said, a grin flashing across her face and disappearing just as quickly. "My last pack. I just smoke wizards the rest of the time."

"Have you tried Forgden's?"

"Oh, yeah, they're my favorite, but I can never find them in Hogsmeade …"

"I order cartons from Diagon Alley," James said, laughing. "I can't stand the self-lighting ones."

"Mm." Lily flicked the ash off her cigarette and looked in the opposite direction.

"What brings you out here?" James asked on an exhale, willing the conversation to continue and watching the smoke disappear in front of him. It was nearly dark out, a bit past sunset, but it wasn't yet so late in the year that it was too chilly out to have a smoke outside.

"I dunno. Just—just wanted a smoke, I guess."

"Oh." _Obviously_.

It was silent, then: "When did you start smoking?" Lily asked, sounding curious but not looking at him.

"I dunno. Couple years ago. It was a stressful time in my life." He didn't tell her the real reason he'd started smoking—he'd been in a semi-depressed, half-drunk state and Sirius had chosen the worst possible moment to offer him a fag, and James had accepted it because he'd been properly upset about feeling so in love with a girl who did not love him back. Later, he figured it out: he had not been in love with her; infatuation was not love; to love someone, she had to love you back. Or at least be able to tolerate your presence. James had learned a lot that spring, mostly about what it felt like to be so pissed you wouldn't remember what you'd done the night before, but also about what it felt like to realize that you were not in love—only obsessed with a very pretty girl. "You?"

"I started smoking after … I guess around summer after fifth year."

A quick calculation told him that meant after the Defense OWL, that fateful spring afternoon that had ended her friendship with Snape and any chance James had ever had at a relationship with her. Not long after he'd started. "You know it'll kill you, right?" he asked, half joking.

"I think that's half the reason I smoke them."

"And the other half? The nicotine?"

"Not really. I don't even think the nicotine does much for me. It's more—I guess the process. It's why I don't get how people can be social smokers. You can sort of—you can take your cigarette and use it as an excuse to get away from everyone, and you can sit in a place as scenic as this—" She gestured around them, to the view their perch on the highest seats in the stands provided. "—and just sort of. Breathe. It's kind of ironic, but the best thing about smoking is the breathing."

"Wrong," James said, trying not to take her response as an underhanded way of telling him to leave. Lily Evans had never been underhanded with him. "The best thing about smoking is the nicotine."

Lily laughed—actually laughed—and James felt a tiny sense of triumph.

"I'm sorry I didn't pass you the salt shaker."

"I'm sorry I hit you in the back of the head with one."

He grinned, remembering the bump on the back of his head after the shaker had flown into it. Sirius had noticed it much, much later and howled with laughter.

Lily took a drag of her cigarette. Silence, for a moment.

"I'm sorry I said I didn't see blood status," he tried.

A pause. Lily was not looking at him.

He opened his mouth to apologize again, but—

"I'm sorry I shouted at you because you don't understand what it's like to be a Mudblood."

"I'm sorry I don't understand what it's like to be a—a Muggle-born."

"It's not your fault."

Silence. Then: "Truce?"

"Truce."

Lily smiled properly at him—her mouth was very red—then Vanished her cigarette butt and lit a new one. Her first drag was a long one, and she held it for a moment before exhaling.

"So Gary Walters," James said.

"Gary Walters," Lily agreed, sighing.

Gary Walters had written an op-ed in that morning's _Daily Prophet_ about how essential it was that wizards stand up for their fellow wizards' rights. He was a Muggle-born from Blackpool, and the _Prophet_ had refused to print his article in the Opinion section, so he'd taken out a multi-page ad and printed the same few hundred words on it. _Muggle-borns are wizards the same way Muggles are human_, the piece concluded, and James rather thought that wasn't the brightest way to end it. He'd have gone for something cleverer, more alliterative—something like _blood purists are bloody pricks_ or … well, Moony was the clever one anyway.

"He was right," James said abruptly.

"Yeah, but his article was poorly written and—well—probably a bit dangerous, too," Lily said.

"Does that matter?"

"I," Lily said, and then shrugged. "I'm not sure. It'd be—I mean of course it'd be ideal if someone like Dumbledore or Elphias Doge wrote an op-ed, someone with real influence, not some random low level Ministry employee … but it's brave and he said things that needed saying."

James nodded his agreement, and then there was a silence between them again.

"Can I see your lighter?" James asked, both curious and looking to break the silence.

She handed it over.

"How do you use it?"

"This one's a little complicated," she said. "Here, you have to spin that and press down on that at the same time—no, you're not—yeah—"

He managed to light it and was shocked that he dropped it in his lap. Lily laughed, grabbed it—James stopped breathing momentarily—and lit it again so he could see.

"This one's just a cheap one from a corner shop, but my dad's is much easier to use. You just press down on a lever and the fire comes out the other end."

"Why aren't they all like that?" James asked grumpily. "This is too hard. My fingers can't do all these things at once."

"You're not very good at being bad at things, are you?" But again, she was laughing. "I suppose I knew that."

"It's hard! That's not my fault, is it?"

"You just have to move your thumb really quickly. Here, use the side, like—yes! There you go!"

He kept the lever pushed down, stared at the flame in wonder.

"Muggles," he said, mostly in awe. "The things they come up with … it's brilliant, isn't it? How does it _work_?"

"The friction makes a spark, which lights the gas inside and ignites a flame. That's why when you stop pressing down on that bit, you stop getting fire—because you're not igniting anything anymore."

"_Brilliant_," James said hoarsely, and Lily laughed _again_—he'd never known she had such a capacity for humor!—and then reached over and ruffled his hair. "What was _that_ for?" he asked, wounded.

She shrugged. "I've wanted to do that for years," she said. "Your hair is softer than I expected."

He walked her back to Gryffindor tower, listening to her babble about the chemistry behind fire—"My sister did a physics degree, loved science when we were kids, had this chemistry set we used to play with—it was like making potions," she was saying—and this was too much, really, because not only were they not fighting, they were also not bickering, were having a _civilized conversation_.

"Evans," Sirius greeted her when they entered the common room, looking quizzically at James.

"Sirius," Lily replied, immediately moving forward for a hug.

Sirius, to his credit, looked very ashamed as he accepted it. James only shrugged; Sirius may have hugged Lily Evans, but she had mussed _James's_ hair, and thus it was he, his mind told him, who had the upper hand.

Even so, upon lying back in his bed that evening, he could do very little to make her face or hands vacate his mind. He couldn't figure it out, couldn't fathom what was happening, but—

The problem with Lily Evans was, she had long legs and smelled like cigarette smoke and she was like the ice chilling him to the core when he had a fever. He hated her, absolutely _loathed_ her, and yet there was something in the set of her jaw and the movement of her fingertips that he could not get out of his head.

* * *

Lily had not expected a friendship with James Potter to sprout up so quickly, but it did.

Only the morning after they'd called a truce, they'd sat next to each other at breakfast, only this time, their interactions were empty of any hostility.

"Pass the salt, please, Evans," James said after having made a face at the first bite of his eggs. "And _do_ make sure not to hit me in the head with a salt shaker—wouldn't want McGonagall to give you another detention ..."

Lily stuck her tongue out, but handed him the salt shaker near her right hand, making sure not to spill a grain.

She'd forgotten all about her detention, but it was set for that evening, and she was not looking forward to it. The last time she'd had detention, Filch had made her clean out the trophy cabinets without magic. It had taken ages to convince him to piss off so she could take out her wand and ignore the rules he'd set. This she'd done off a tip from Remus during their patrols the week before—he'd had to do it, he'd said, and the best way to get Filch off her back was to pretend to leak information about some other students' wrongdoings. Remus said he often used James and Sirius if they weren't doing a detention with him, and sometimes they even took the hit and actually _did_ knock over a suit of armor or something.

Lily had told Filch that she'd heard some Slytherins plotting to set off dungbombs in the bathrooms the previous evening, and after she'd assured him that she could indeed wipe weeks of slime and dust off the trophies without supervision, he'd waddled off to get the Slytherins in detention. Upon his return, he'd glared at her suspiciously, and she'd been certain he'd use a Prioi Incantatem to see if she'd done any magic, but instead he squinted at her for a moment and then sighed and dismissed her.

She was looking forward to very much the same sort of experience that night, but instead McGonagall sent her to Doge.

"He needs some paperwork filed," McGonagall said. "I'm sure you'll find him most … interesting."

"Surely the trophies need cleaning," Lily suggested hopefully, positive that the paperwork would take much more time than convincing Filch to leave her alone for long enough to cast a simple Scourgify.

"I'm afraid Mr. Lupin attended to those only last week," McGonagall said. "He did an excellent job for not having the use of his wand."

Lily was very certain that McGonagall knew exactly what had transpired in the trophy room when Remus had been there.

"In any case, Professor Doge requested a seventh year's assistance … I'm sure that, had you not covered the Great Hall in salt—which took the house elves _ages_ to clean, I might add—he would have offered up the volunteer time to your classmates. It will undoubtedly be valuable to get to know him."

"Doesn't Professor Slughorn need anything done?" Lily asked, somewhat desperately. Doge was so _dry_...

"I'm sure he does," McGonagall said. "And yet it would hardly be much of a punishment to send you to a professor who is so … enamored of you. It will be Professor Doge, Miss Evans, and you will not want to be late."

Lily sighed, but understood that she was dismissed and made her way sullenly to Doge's office.

"Ah, hell, Miss Evans," he said upon her entrance.

She expected a further greeting, but Doge merely pointed to the chair on the opposite side of his desk and handed her a stack of parchment.

"If you have any questions about what goes where, please ask me," Doge said. "But it should be fairly straightforward."

She looked at the sheets of parchment, sighing at the prospect of writing out Doge's name on hundreds of pages. He had little notes attached to them, too, that said when the forms were due. Some, she noticed as she flipped through them, had been due days or weeks before.

"Do you mind if—I mean, would it be alright if I used magic?" Lily asked.

Doge raised an eyebrow at her. "It would hardly be efficient if you didn't," he said. "It is not as though I am attempting to make my own paperwork sloppy simply to make _your_ life more difficult."

"Right," she said, then, "thanks, sir."

Doge inclined his head and returned to the roll of parchment set in front of him. Upon further inspection, it appeared to be an essay. Doge frowned at it for a moment before writing a large red E at the top. Lily tried to peek at the name, but Doge had it well-covered, and so instead she exhaled through her teeth and rapped the parchment sharply with her wand.

The words _Elphias Doge_ appeared on the top sheet of parchment above the line marked "Name," and then the entire stack seemed to shimmer for a moment until each page had his named filled in. Lily flicked through them quickly, ensuring that the pages that had called for his name to be filled out surname first had been filled out accordingly.

She rapped the parchment sharply again, and this time each box calling for a date filled itself out according to the day before the paperwork had been due if it was late or the current date if it was not. She checked the parchment again to make sure the formatting was all right, and it seemed that it was. That only left boxes that required signatures and more obscure information that she did not know—one sheet asked for the last time Doge had used an illegal mode of transportation, and another had flashing red ink that said, rather forebodingly, that some Auror or other had to go on maternity leave and needed Doge to sign off on a specific amount of time.

Frowning, Lily looked up, meaning to ask Doge how to answer questions like these, and found that he was staring at her.

"What's wrong?" she asked instead.

"That was a handy charm," he said.

"Yes, well—my mum needed someone to fill out her taxes, after—when I was a bit younger, and then my sister needed help filling out invitations to dinner parties all the time, so I learned some tricks."

"Did it take you long?" Doge asked, taking some of the parchment and examining the boxes that had been filled in by magic.

"To learn? Not particularly. It's a fairly simple copying spell, except I don't particularly like writing things out so I had it copy a sort of—an image I had in my head."

"And for the invitations?" Doge said. "You had to copy each one individually?"

"No," Lily said. "I figured out that if you want to copy a list, you only have to slightly modify the intent behind the spell."

"But when the spell fades, what happens to the words?"

"Nothing," Lily said. "I thought I might run into that problem, and you know Muggles—didn't want them to start worrying when the words suddenly disappeared from their tax returns. So I figured out a way to make the spell take ink directly out of the ink pot."

She showed him the ink pot, which was unopened but a good deal emptier than it should have been.

Doge gazed at her for a moment.

"Miss Evans," he said finally. "I think you should consider applying for my apprenticeship at the end of the spring term."

Lily stared at him for a moment and tried to figure out how best to turn him down. "Er," she said. "Thing is, I wasn't really planning on going into the Aurors … I rather wanted to do something with potion-making."

"Yes, I'd heard about your talent for Potions," Doge said. "Professor Slughorn _raves_ about you."

Lily did not know how to respond to this, and so she looked back down at the paperwork. "Er—sir," she said. "Could you sign one of these so I know what your signature looks like?"

Doge continued to stare at her for a moment before finally obliging.

It seemed like several hours later that she had finally finished writing in the details that she hadn't been able to charm onto the parchment. Doge was still grading essays when she slid her chair back, deliberately scraping it against the wooden floor so that he would notice and look up.

"Ah, you're finished," he said. "I shall enlist your assistance the next time you have a detention."

"That probably won't be for a while," Lily said. "I'm—well, I don't really get detentions often."

"Yes, I would expect as much," Doge said.

"Well—goodnight," Lily said awkwardly.

Doge did not reply, but when she reached his door, he spoke.

"You should consider the apprenticeship anyway. You'd make some very valuable connections, and connections are important in every magical field, especially for someone like you, who is—who does not have all the privileges of one whose family has been working in magical fields for centuries."

"Thanks," Lily said, but when she shut the door she did not know if she felt very grateful. What Doge had said was true, of course, but that did not make her any more happy to hear it.

* * *

Mary MacDonald's last letter from Lily Evans would reach her three months after the birth of Lily's son:

_We've named him Harry_, it would read, _Harry James_.

Mary would be in the Galapagos Islands, flirting with Muggles and exploring the islands, and she would scrawl back a hasty reply on the back of a postcard she'd bought at the equator: _Great to hear from you, Lil! Send everyone my love—especially Harry! Send pictures!_.

She would hear about Voldemort's fall from some locals in South Africa the week after it happened, but she would not hear about the Potters until it was nearly Christmas and she Flooed home from Singapore to visit her parents and owled all her old friends to see who was willing to have a drink with her and catch up in the gloriously post-Voldemort world.

It was then that she heard: Lily and James Potter were dead, Alice and Frank Longbottom nearly dead, Dorcas Meadowes dead, Marlene McKinnon dead, Benjy Fenwick dead, Peter Pettigrew dead, Sirius Black in Azkaban for having killed thirteen Muggles in broad daylight after betraying all his friends …

Natalie Spinnet would tell her this over a cup of coffee on Christmas Eve, finishing with a sad, "I've sent Remus Lupin about eight owls since it all happened, and he hasn't returned a single one."

Mary MacDonald would be racked with guilt and spend the rest of her life frantically scurrying around the world trying to escape it.

Now, however, another letter was on her mind:

She had read Xabier's letter over and over again and could not think of anything to write in response. He had not said anything particularly wild or interesting, but even breathing in the north of Spain seemed more interesting than doing _anything_ in Scotland, at Hogwarts, with all of these people who felt increasingly insufferable (but also, she thought sadly, increasingly distant).

"How necessary do you think it is to actually have any N.E.W.T.s?" she asked no one in particular one evening in the girls' dormitory. Only Natalie, Alexandria, and Lily were in the room, though Lily was engrossed in a novel and Natalie was playing a record and staring up at the top of her four poster.

"Do you ever want to have a job that _isn't_ being a shopkeeper?" Alexandria said. "Because if so—important, I'd say. Integral, even."

"You're not thinking of leaving, are you?" Lily asked. "Mary, you _can't_."

It's not as though you're taking particular advantage of my being here now, though, Mary wanted to say, but instead she shrugged. "I don't know. I don't see myself ever working at the Ministry or any of that, but I don't want to be a shopkeeper, either ..."

"Would you ever take a Muggle job?"

"Don't be ridiculous, she'd need to go to uni for a good Muggle job," Lily said.

"We're witches," Alexandria reminded her. "If she really wants to, she can convince someone she's been to uni."

"I don't know that I want to do that either anyway," Mary said. "I just—dunno. Am I ever going to need to know how to make a potion that'll turn you into a shark or a donkey or whatever if you drink it? I don't fancy potion-making ..."

"But the skills you learn now will be applicable to whatever you do in the future," Lily said. "I mean, say I become, I dunno, a potion-brewer, right? My knowledge of Herbology and Transfiguration will definitely be useful even if it doesn't seem so now—"

But Lily did not understand. Lily could argue all she wanted that she did not know what she would do in the future, but Mary wasn't stupid; it was obvious that Lily had found her passion that first Potions class when she'd stirred the cauldron in the wrong direction and it had come out better than the book had promised. Lily liked solving puzzles in real time, and Lily was good at magic and Lily was clever the way anyone who read a lot was clever but also clever the way someone who had a natural talent for something was clever. Lily might now know exactly which position she would want in fifteen years, but she certainly knew that she loved making potions more than anything else, and there was nothing in the world like that for Mary. The most fun she'd ever had in her life had been lying on a beach reading a magazine and then being dragged around an unfamiliar city in Spain before eventually ending up at a Spaniard's flat and much, much later being fed Spanish food for breakfast. But she supposed the food had been Basque, and anyway wandering strange cities late at night could not be a profession.

Mary sat up. "I suppose you're right," she said, though she had not been listening to anything that Lily had been saying. "I'm going to the library. Be back in a bit."

She felt much less suffocated once she was outside of the dormitory, and stood outside the portrait hole until the Fat Lady asked her if she was going to go anywhere before finally deciding that she would indeed go to the library.

The corridors of Hogwarts were surprisingly empty for so early in the evening—she'd had a fairly early dinner with her mates, as Mead had wanted to eat before Quidditch practice, and so she expected that much of the school was in the Great Hall. Still, it seemed unnatural to see the corridors so devoid of people so long before curfew.

The library, however, was full: three of the four Marauders were sat at a table with Eddie Vance, surprisingly actually appearing to do work—Mary supposed that was the influence of Remus and the lack of the influence of James; Alice had claimed a table to herself and had it covered with parchment and books and even a few broken quills, as if she had dumped out her bag, and really, the girl could be so insufferable—it was like she _wanted_ people to see her working very hard so they would pity her or respect her or something—Mary did not much like her, sometimes; a group of fifth years were whispering fervently and desperately about what Mary thought sounded like O.W.L.s, and she thought about how easy they had it and how much more difficult the N.E.W.T.s would be; and several Hufflepuff Quidditch players that Mary was fairly certain were much too thick to know how to read, including Rob Walcott, whose book was upside down, were taking up another table. Mary wondered why so many people were in the library—perhaps there were exams that week and she simply hadn't noticed. She would not put that past herself, not in her current apathetic state.

She wandered the rows of books, looking for something that would pique her interest; she did not want to read about history of magic, nor about the political state of the wizarding world, nor about handy potions to keep in one's cupboard; she did not care about arithmancy or ancient runes or alchemy; it was a book titled, _The World in 100 Fireplaces_ that finally caught her eye, and it was this log of a wizard's travels around the world that she took back up to the girls' dormitory and used to ignore the gnawing annoyance at her current state that would not leave her stomach.

* * *

Marlene loved Quidditch, really; it was a combination of mental and physical exercise, making her arms and abs sore while working her mind as she linked up with James and Mead in the attack, all strategy and tactics and where to be when and who to pass to and when go for goal and when to try and make an assist.

But it was this, flying, just flying, with no thought or pre-planning, that she lived for. She circled the turrets and towers now, hair blowing back in the wind, unhindered by her usual Quidditch practice ponytail. There was nothing like this, not swinging at playgrounds or swimming in the ocean in Spain or even sex with Theo or whoever else she'd taken an interest to that particular evening.

Magic was great, spectacular, even, but Hogwarts and wizardry, Marlene thought, would be _nothing_ without flying.

She would not have ever landed if it weren't for the obligations tying her to earth: namely, a date with Theo, one that she had avoided and put off for weeks and couldn't any longer. They were to meet by the lake, and Marlene tucked her broom neatly away, checked her hair in the locker room, made sure she did not look too wild, before smoothing down her skirt and making her way there.

He was too early, as usual, and was carrying a basket that she could only imagine had a bottle of wine and a full spread of cheeses, grapes, and crackers within it. He was beaming when he saw her, as he always was, and he waited for her to sit before he would.

"I saw you flying," he said. "Your rolls are _impeccable_."

"Spying on the enemy, are we?" she asked, grinning.

"Spying? Never _spying_. Observing, _maybe_. But spying? On the enemy, no less? Think you no better of me, O'Connell?"

"Oh, shut up, Theo," Marlene said, but she was laughing.

Theo poured her a glass of wine. He was so predictable. "My mum sent it to me," he said, all earnest eyes. "And I've got some nice cheeses—"

"Shut up and kiss me, McKinnon," Marlene said, and Theo put down the bottle and leaned into her.

Theo McKinnon was not spontaneous, nor was he adventurous, unpredictable, or wild, but Theo McKinnon was sweet and warm and had given her wine even if she'd refused to commit to a proper relationship, and for this Marlene could only be grateful.

* * *

Later, if someone asked Sirius, he would not be able to explain what it was about Remus that had made him want to be his friend all those years ago. He would just frown thoughtfully, stand perfectly still for once, and then, at long last, sigh, "It was his bleeding _hands_, mate, they were ridiculous."

And it had been, at least sort of: Sirius had been paired with Remus in their second ever Potions class, and Remus had accidentally cut his hand with his knife and had merely looked at it, eyes wide, frowning a little bit the way he always was, and said, "Oh. Bollocks," very faintly.

"Mate, you're _bleeding_," Sirius had said, but rather than do what he would have done years later and quickly heal the wound or at least wrap it up, he'd snatched Remus's hand. "I can see the _bone_!"

A drop of Remus's blood fell into their potion after that, making it smoke ominously, and Slughorn had bustled over. He'd made Sirius escort Remus to the Hospital Wing— "Because Madam Pomfrey'll have my tail if I patch you up without seeking her guidance!" —and the nurse had smiled at Remus, called him by name.

"How do you already know her?" Sirius had asked, all curiosity, all impressed, because Remus had seemed like this badass who wound up in the Hospital Wing getting bones mended and scrapes healed all the time, and Remus had fumbled with his wand in his uninjured hand, hadn't replied.

Sirius, himself being prone to bragging, could not understand why this boy would not brag about his own badassery; there could be only one conclusion, thus, as far as Sirius was concerned: Remus, Sirius thought, must have had some terrible injury or illness that he had to kept secret. Sirius had immediately taken the issue up with James, and it was not very much later that they had essentially forced Remus to be the fourth member of their group of friends, and not long after that they had figured out exactly what landed him the Hospital Wing so often.

But now, Remus's long fingers curled absently around a mug of tea, ignoring the handle on the side altogether. One of his fingers tapped against the porcelain as he chewed on his lip, eyes cast down at his parchment, the end of his quill hovering next to his mouth as he mumbled about the properties of unicorns or something equally inconsequential under his breath. Sirius wanted to ask him to speak up, but didn't want to break his concentration. There was something about a Remus who was focusing very hard on something that made Sirius feel peculiarly like he wanted to distract him and protect him from distraction both at the same time.

"Blimey, but Evans is _fit_," James sighed, catching sight of her across the room.

"What, she said one nice thing to you and now she's the fittest bird in Britain?" Sirius said, glad for the distraction.

"No, but look at her! She _is_!"

Sirius looked contemplatively at Lily, whose long legs were crossed in front of her where she sat on the floor. She was leaning forward, elbows resting on the table, scanning the pages of some book or other while Mary MacDonald babbled about something or other beside her. Sirius glanced around the room, searching for Alexandria or Mead, but neither was to be found and so he returned to Lily again. Her dark red hair was pulled back into a knot at the top of her head. Her collarbones were in such sharp relief that Sirius could see them even in profile, even from halfway across the room.

"She's all right," Sirius said at last. "Bit thin."

"She's not a bit thin," James said. "She's _perfect_. Moony, tell him she's perfect."

"She's perfect just the way she is, Sirius," Remus admonished.

"You know that's not what I meant," Sirius said, rolling his eyes. "And anyway, she's not my type _or_ Moony's."

"She's mine, sort of," Peter said.

"Wormtail, a _house elf_ is your type, if it's willing ..."

"Oi, Evans!" James was calling suddenly, and Sirius groaned while Remus allowed a small smile. "Come over here!"

Sirius spared her a glance and was surprised to see her look over, acknowledge James's request, and stand up, straightening her skirt as she did.

"What is it?" she said upon her arrival.

"Well, Moony here says Felix Felicis is made from things like shamrocks and horseshoes, but I think it's just molten leprechaun gold—which of us is right?"

"Shamrocks and horseshoes?" Lily repeated. "As in—Muggle symbols of good luck?"

Remus shrugged sheepishly and Sirius patted him consolingly on the shoulder.

"So it _is_ molten leprechaun gold?"

"Don't be stupid, leprechaun gold disappears after a bit," Lily said. "The potion is much more complicated than that. Its base is actually partially lead, but there's a bit of alchemy involved in turning the lead into gold—it's the luck required to do that that ends up in the bottle. At least—that's sort of what Slughorn said when I asked, but I read up on it and I think there are at least a few banned substances included in it, so I'm not entirely certain … why, did you want to brew some?"

"Could we?"

"Probably not. It takes six months and requires a skilled potioneer."

"We're young. We've got at least six more months to live," Sirius said. "Decades, even."

"And _you're_ a skilled potioneer."

"Nice try," Lily said. "But I'm not helping you illegally brew Felix Felicis. Why do you even need it, anyway? You're already four of the luckiest blokes in the school."

Remus snorted a little at that, and Sirius patted him consolingly on the shoulder again, but he supposed it was true: Sirius and James, at least, had grown up in a place of incredible privilege. Sirius had lost most of that when he was fairly young, only to regain it with the death of his favorite uncle. Peter's family didn't have much money, but they were loving all the same. It was only Remus who was truly unlucky in their group, and perhaps it was Remus who deserved luck the most. Sirius supposed that was how things tended to go. But anyway, Lily didn't know about Remus's furry little problem.

He shrugged. "Couldn't hurt to be a little luckier."

"Yes it could—there are hundreds of cases of wizards going mad from too much Felix Felicis," Lily said, but she was smiling. "It can lead to all manner of awful psychoses—delusions of grandeur, believing in one's invincibility … I would almost guess that you lot had already overdosed on it. Anyway, I'm trying to find a way to cure Gryffindor tower of _your_ fleas. Please don't interrupt me again unless you need _actual_ help."

Sirius watched James watch the backs of her legs as she walked away. There was something funny on James's face, a strange sort of twitching around his mouth, and Sirius realized suddenly that James was—against all odds—trying not to smile.

"You're ridiculous, mate," Sirius said, and James sighed.

"Well," he said, and that was that.

* * *

Lily was putting finishing touches on an anti-flea potion when she next saw Snape.

"Lily," he said, and there was a pleading in his voice that she was surprised to hear.

"I can't do this right now, Sev," Lily said quietly. "I'm sorry. I'm just very tired and very busy and—"

"I just wanted to see if there was anyway—"

"There's not," Lily said, then, "I'm sorry," again.

Because, she thought, walking away, she _was_ sorry. She knew she was not at fault for their rift, but she was sorry that the person who had first taught her about magic was no longer her friend.

The thing about Severus Snape was, he hadn't always been …

Well, he hadn't always been part of a gang of prejudiced bullies, Lily thought.

The thing about Sev was, he was—or he had been—the type of boy who would have burnt down the whole world if he thought it'd make Lily happy. He had been her best mate, and that had not been without reason, and whatever her friends said, he'd loved her just as much as—if not more than—she'd loved him.

Sev felt like home. And there was a part of her—however small, however insignificant—that missed the days before Hogwarts, when magic had been shiny and new and Petunia hadn't hated her and she hadn't known what a Mudblood was and her dad had still been around. Oh, she wouldn't go back to being eight years old, of course she wouldn't, but—

It was just, she missed her father and she hated not being friends with Petunia and she hated not being friends with Sev and she hated that he was probably going to become a follower of Lord Voldemort and she hated that she couldn't stop him.

Lily sat down at her desk and looked down at the letter, on her mother's crisp white stationery, pale blue monogram in the corner. D.E.

It was just a typical letter, really, describing her mother's day to day life, but the last line sort of broke Lily's heart:

_I miss you, darling. It is quiet in this big old house without you and your sister. Come home soon + safe._

Love always,

Mum

Lily felt a tug at her gut as she reread it. She always missed her mum, of course, but she found herself now wishing that she could have her here at Hogwarts, just for a quick hug or some of her mum's spectacular mincemeat pie or—just _anything_. It was not often that Lily felt homesick, but just now the feeling was overwhelming.

She took out a new roll of parchment and dipped her quill in ink. It blotted a bit when she brought it to the parchment, leaving a great drop of dark blue ink just where the _D_ of _Dear_ was, and Lily sighed. She almost wanted to just give up on it, but instead she took out her wand and wiped the parchment clean.

_Dear Mum_, she began, and then stopped. What was she supposed to tell her? _Dear Mum, I've been fighting with a bloke called James Potter but we've just made up and now we're sort of mates, that boy you always felt bad for is still around and begging me to forgive him for hurling racial slurs at me, Caradoc and I broke up and then got back together—per usual—and I'm doing well in Potions—also per usual_?

_Dear Mum_, she wrote,

_I'm doing quite well, thanks for asking. I had a bit of a cold, but it was nothing our resident nurse couldn't fix. Magic and all that, you know._ Lily stopped writing and stared at the words on the parchment before wiping them with her wand, too.

_I'm doing really well, thanks_, she wrote instead. _I miss you loads, of course. I hope you're all right without Tuney around to make you miserable. Have you been keeping up with _Doctor Who_? Most recent series is gripping, isn't it?_

She knew her mum would want to hear more about her life, but that would just have to wait. Sighing, she set her quill down and blew on the ink to dry it before standing up and looking longingly at her bed. It had been quite a long week, and she was fairly certain all her mates were planning to go on the lash that evening, but she was _tired_, and sort of tired of them …

Well, that wasn't fair, she supposed. She wasn't tired of _all_ her friends. If anything, she was tired of Doc, tired of James Potter, tired of Alice … even sort of tired of Mary. Mead was all right, she supposed, but only because she'd been so distant all month …

And anyway, her bed was more appealing, and it'd be healthier, right, to sleep instead of drink?

Deciding upon this at last, Lily put out the torch near her desk and undressed quickly before tucking herself snugly into bed.

Before she knew it, without ever really meaning to wake up, she was flying … flying had never really been her thing, more a mode of transportation than a way to have fun, never something she would do on her own just for the hell of it, but now she was flying and she thought she sort of understood what Mead was always on about. There was something glorious about the wind in her hair, about the pure and utter defiance of gravity.

She realized, suddenly, that she was not alone; there was someone with her, flying alongside her, oddly silent and fully concentrated on flying.

"Where are we going?" she asked. The other person shrugged—or, rather, she felt him shrug through the air, but his body did not seem to move at all.

"Anywhere you want," he said.

"Hogwarts?"

"If you'd like."

"Home? To—to Surrey?"

"Yes, if you want."

"America?"

"Sure."

"Mars."

"Let's."

"I think I'm in love with you."

The person shrugged again, before looking Lily in the eye. His eyes were terrifyingly piercing. It was as if they were staring into her soul, and she felt suddenly uncomfortably naked. "You do know I'm not real, right?"

"It's nice to pretend."

"Mm." The person moved toward her slowly, as if through quicksand. He reached toward her and she for him, and then she'd lost grip on her broom and was falling, falling, through the crisp night air … She woke with a start, fell abruptly back asleep, and was left feeling distinctly unsettled for the rest of the day.

* * *

In Blackpool, Gary Walters turned off his magically altered telly. Gary Walters walked up the stairs of his house. On his way to his bedroom, he peeked in on his sleeping children and gave each a featherlight kiss on the cheek. His son had kicked off his blanket in his sleep. Gary Walters covered him back up. His daughter was sleeping very peacefully, curled up in a tiny ball under her pale pink blankets. It was a little too cold in the room, and Gary Walters tapped the doorframe to heat it up.

And then Gary Walters did a curious thing: he walked to each window in his children's bedroom and reinforced the glass with the best-quality magic he knew. Then he left the room, closing the door behind him, and did his very best defensive spellwork there, too. When he finished, the door was no longer visible to the naked eye; in fact, to know that there was a door there, one would have to reach out, grope around for the doorknob, find it, and even then find the door locked.

Gary Walters scrawled this on a note to his wife, folded it up, tucked it under her pillow in their bed, and hoped she would find it when she returned from visiting her mother that week.

Then Gary Walters changed dutifully into his pajamas, climbed into his bed, turned off the last light, closed his eyes, held his wand very tightly in his hand, and waited for the three men he'd seen waiting outside his house to break down the front door.

* * *

**A/N:** Please leave a review if you like/don't like this chapter. Questions, comments, suggestions, etc are all welcome. Many thanks to my lovely beta, Dana, who read this over for me while in the midst of finals.


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